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PS2281.L86F4 1887
Final memorials of Henry Wadsworth Longf
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LIFE
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Edited by Rev. Samuel Longfellow.
2 vols. X2m0.
With five new steel-engraved Portraits and many wood En-
gravings and Fac-similes. In cloth, $6.00; in half-calf,
with marbled edges, $11.00 ; in half-morocco, with gilt top
and rough edges, $11.00.
' ♦
"Altogether the most fascinating book that has been pub-
lished for months. It is full of the most interesting and
picturesque and poetic things." — Boston Record.
"One thinks of the gentle scholar as a man who can never
have made an enemy or lost a friend ; and we lay down his
autobiography (for such the book can fairly be called) with a
feeling that in these posthumous pages he has opened a view
of his own soul as beautiful as the creations of his fancy." —
New York Tribune.
"It is needless to add that the publication of these noble
volumes is the literary event of the day, that all continents
will greet them with delight, and that coming ages will quote
them affectionately in recalling that Longfellow was not only
a pure and great poet, which is much, but also a pure and
great man, which is more." — The Beacon (Boston).
"These volumes tell the story of his life with exquisite
taste ; they also unfold a panorama of the literary history of
America, and are among the rare and monumental books of
the present century." — Chicago Inter-Ocean-
For sale by alt booksellers. Sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price.
Catalogues 0/ our books ■mailed free.
TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.
FINAL MEMORIALS
OF
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
i A .v^^o■^|_
FINAL MEMORIALS
OF
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
EDITED BY
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW
NON CLAMOR SBD AMOR
BOSTON
TICKNOR AND COMPANY
1887
Copyright, 1887,
By Ticknor and Company.
All rights reserved.
UL_
\
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.
l.t
PEE FACE.
The Life of Mr. Longfellow by the present Edi-
tor is complete in itself ; but the story of the last
fifteen years was not given in it with the same
fulness of detail as the earlier portions, through
fear of unduly increasing the size of the work.
As it was, it is very large. Nevertheless some
readers have expressed a desire for more ; and to
meet their wish — and for the reading only of
such as they — the Editor has, with some reluc-
tance, consented to prepare the present volume.
It contains the Journals and Correspondence of the
years mentioned above, with many letters of an
earlier date for which room was not found in the
Life, besides some which have but lately come
into the Editor's hands. He has been very glad
of the permission to include the tributes and rem-
iniscences by various hands, which present many
traits and incidents of Mr. Longfellow's character
and life, and show something of what he was by
the impression which he left upon those who came
into his company. To all whose work he has
thus used to add interest to his book, the Editor
IV PREFACE.
returns his thanks. He is still obliged to regret
the absence of any letters to Mr. Hawthorne,
Mr. Felton, and Lord Tennyson.
The book begins with two fragments from early
Journals, — the first going back to the first youth-
ful visit to Europe. An Appendix, intended for
the Life, closes the book, with a Bibliography
reprinted, with revision, from the Literary World,
by kind permission of its editor, followed by
a chapter of Genealogy, and some miscellaneous
matter.
Among the illustrations are two new portraits,
— of earliest and latest years, — a view of the
poet's study in Craigie House, and another of the
bust in its place in the Poets' Corner of West-
minster Abbey, from a recent photograph.
There remains yet one book to be written, as it
is hoped, by some intimate friend of Mr. Long-
fellow, — a compact Life, for which this volume
and its predecessors may be mimoires pour
servir ; but as far as the present Editor is con-
cerned, these memorials are final.
S. L.
Cbaigie House,
Ap^ 12, 1887.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. Journal and Letters. 1829. 1835. 1836 . . 1
II. COERESPONDENCE. 1837-1850 10
in. Correspondence. 1852-1860 33
IV. Correspondence. 1860-1865 65
V. Journal and Letters. 1866 78
VI. Journal and Letters. 1867-1868 91
Vn. LirrTEES and Journal. 1868-1869 108
Vni. Journal and Letters. 1870 128
IX. Journal and Letters. 1871 150
X. Journal and Letters. 1872 180
XI. Journal and Letters. 1873-1874 202
XII. Journal and Letters. 1875-1876 229
XIII. Journal and Letters. 1877 253
XrV. Journal and Letters. 1878-1879 269
XV. The Last Years. 1880-1882 293
XVI. Reminiscences 308
XVII. Other Reminiscences 337
XVm. Tributes 354
XIX. Table-Talk 372
XX. Fragments op Verse 383
VI CONTENTS.
Chacteb P^ok
XXI. Belated Letters 388
XXII. The Stddt at Ckaigie House 401
XXIII. The Memokial in Westminster Abbey ... 407
APPENDIX.
. I. Genealogt 415
II. Bibliography . 421
III. Honorarium 435
IV. A Jeu d'Esprit 436
v. The First Close of the ' Building of the Ship ' . 437
VI. The Two Inkstands 438
VII. The Motto 440
INDEX 443
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Faoe
Portrait, etched by S. A. Schoff, from Photo-
graph, 1868 . Frontispiece
Portrait from Crayon by Samuel Lawrence, 1854 . 44
Vignette: from a Pencil-Drawing by Mr. Long-
fellow Titlepage
Portrait: facsimile from a Pencil- Sketch, 1835 . . 8
In the Study: from a Pencil-Sketch, 1847 .... 20
Craigie House, from the West 122
The "Village Smithy:" from a Pen-Sketch by
Mr. Longfellow ... 284
Facsimile of a part of the Sonnet on President
Garfield 302
Craigie House, from the North 346
The Study, Craigie House 401
In the Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey .... 408
The two Inkstands 438, 439
MEMORIALS.
CHAPTER I.
JOURNAL AND LETTEES.
1829. 1835. 1836.
May 9, 1829. Left Utrecht in the diligence for Diis-
seldorf, passing through Nimwegen, Cleves, and Cleveld.
Dined at the last-mentioned place. An old Swiss woman
in the coach, a giantess, dressed in black, with a white
woollen cloak. She insisted upon my accompanying her
to find an eating-house where she might dine. I was
exceedingly averse to this proceeding, but there was no
avoiding it ; so forth we sallied, — a fine Don Quixote for
so sweet a Dulcinea ! I think I never beheld such a tout
ensemble as the good old lady presented ; for besides the
white woollen hood and cloak, she wore a pair of huge
postilion's boots, in which she strode along the pavement
like the brazen man of Ehodes. The exhibition was highly
ludicrous, — so thought I, and so thought the good people
of Cleveld ; for as the giantess tramped along in her seven-
league boots, " septingenta millia passuum in uno ambu-
lans," the town began to stir. First one head popped out
of a window, then in again, then returned with a reinforce-
ment of some half-dozen laughing faces. Crowds of gig-
gling girls collected at the corners and the doors, for it
was Sunday, — of course a play-day in the Catholic
1
2 JOURNAL. [1839.
town of Cleveld. The horror of my own situation burst
upon me at once. I made a desperate effort ; at one fell
swoop I cut round the nearest corner, and ran as if for
life.
I soon got back to the place from which we started on
our pilgrimage. If I live to the age of threescore and
ten I shall never forget the sensations which passed
through my heart when I quietly seated niyself in the
back room of a little eating-house at the corner of the
principal street. I felt as if I had been delivered from
"the body of death."
The thoughts of dinner soon chased from my mind all
recollection of my recent disaster. I forgot the white
woollen riding-hood ; even the sound of popular applause
was dying away upon my mind's ear. I strolled into an
adjoining room after dinner, which looked out upon the
principal street. A little knot of smokers stood at the
door. I was just lighting my pipe, when one remarked to
a friend at his elbow, " Hast du das Spectakel gesehen ? "
(Hast thou seen the show ?) I paused to catch the reply,
for my heart misgave me, and the " fidibus " fell from my
hand.
"Was fur ein Spectakel?" (What show?) asked the
other.
" Es kam eine alte Frau vorbey, mit einem sehr sonder-
bar und auslandisch Kleidung."
And so he told the " magna pars f ui " of the old woman's
appearance in the town, and the alarm occasioned thereby.
More people came in just at the close of the narration; and
catching the last words, the whole was told and retold a
dozen times. I mingled in the crowd, tried to look uncon-
cerned, and every time the tale was repeated, laughed as
heartily as if it were all new to me. In this way I passed
unsuspected, till the landlord espied me. I then felt that
my hour was come.
1829.] JOURNAL. 3
" She came here this morning with that gentleman,"
said the landlord with a smile, at the same time designat-
ing me. My situation was awfully comical, for all turned
and stared at me. I shrank like the leaf of a sensitive-
plant. The old woman had pressed me into the service
of attending her. I had never been very proud of that
service, and now I " blushed to find it fame."
I found it necessary to speak ; and after the usual pre-
liminary hums ! and ha's ! was beginning to tell what I
knew of the mysterious stranger, when a distant murmur,
like the tide along the sea-beach, struck my ear.
"Here she comes!" was the cry. "Here she comes!"
echoed from room to room. " Here she comes ! " said I to
myself in an agony. " Confound her ! " I was about to
add, — but no, my better feelings got the mastery ; I felt
ashamed of my own weakness.
There was a general rush to the door ; the murmur be-
came louder and louder ; and urged on by a painful curios-
ity, I got into the press and stationed myself just inside
the door. The reception of Lafayette in America was
nothing to the pageant which now burst upon my view.
A dense mass of people — old and young, men, women,
and children, with caps and shawls and Sunday finery
flapping in the wind — came moving steadily up the
street and rolling onward irresistibly like the sea ; while
above all rose the majestic form of the " alte Frau " with
her white riding-hood, sailing like a ship before the wind
with all sails set, and borne onward upon the bosom of
the noisy waves.
The motley pageant soon came opposite to the spot
where I stood ; it was not unlike the escort which always
attends the egress of the docile elephant from a country
town, when, after having danced and sung and eaten ginger-
bread, and squirted meal and water through his trunk at
the admiring audience, he takes leave of the town amid
4 JOURNAL. [1835.
the plaudits of a rising generation, covered with glory and
a dirty blanket, swings his ponderous limbs towards some
neighboring village, to be again the seven-days wonder of
another little world.
The old woman walked on with a dignified step and an
elevated head. She seemed to look round indignantly on
the crowd. Her hood had got a little disordered ; the cap
was awry, and a lock "of grisly hair stole out upon her
forehead to dally with the wind. As her quick gray eye
glanced rapidly around, as if in search of some one, I felt
rebuked and penitent.
When I saw the " alte Trau " thus followed and hooted
at by the people, I grew deeply indignant, and was button-
ing up my coat in order to plunge into the muddy tide
and rescue her. But a second thought checked me. I
entered into a dialogue with my own conscience upon the
subject. Was I the cause of the old woman's trouble?
No. Could I have prevented it ? No. Can I now remedy
it? No.
As I was quietly laying this flattering unction to my
soul, the postilion blew his horn from the opposite side of
the street. I saw the form of the " alte Frau " rise above
the heads of the multitude, as if lifted up upon their
shoulders ; it sank into the open door of the Post-wagen,
and disappeared. The door was closed, the postilion
mounted, and the coach dashed through the crowd like
mad. I had taken my last look of the " alte Frau " of
Nimwegen.
Stockholm, July 28, 1835.
It has been, and is, a rainy day. In the morning a
thunder-storm. The lightning struck the steeple of Eid-
darholms-kyrkan, and the alarm of fire was given by
the ringing of bells and the discharge of cannon. All
1835.] JOURNAL. 5
Stockholm was abroad, with gens d'armes to keep order,
when I reached the spot. A wreath of smoke was curling
from the top of the steeple, which looked like a pastille
burning. The fire was soon extinguished.
29th. The bells have been tolling solemnly all night
long. The fire is not yet extinguished. About noon yes-
terday it was supposed to be so, and a band of music
paraded the streets, as is the custom here. But all too
soon ; for about five in the afternoon a new alarm was
given. I went out to witness the scene. A small lam-
bent flame was playing slowly round the upper part of
the spire, below the ball and cross. It gained rapidly;
the sheathing of copper yielded, the point of the spire
bent forward, broke, and fell, a huge blazing torch,
through the air, then struck the roof, and then the pave-
ment below with a loud clang. The fire seemed now to
subside; but it was for a moment only. Farther down
a puff of smoke came out, a circle of flame played round
the steeple, and the conflagration commenced again with
greater power. Here and there a tongue of flame, here
and there a wreath of smoke, shot forth, and the steeple
was blazing from its open mouth like the chimney of a
Manchester factory. Now and then a sheet of copper
was loosened and fell to the ground. Then more of the
spire collapsed, and came rolling and flaming through the
air. Every moment the spectacle became more beautiful,
the smoke more dense, the flame more bright. From
every chink came a blue curl, encircling the spire, and
wafted away by the wind. A part of the copper had
fallen athwart the mouth of the blazing furnace ; a rafter
fell outward, and hung there like a cross thick set with
rubies. The descendiag footsteps of the fire were visible
from without as it glanced from between the plates of
copper and flashed from the open windows in the side of
the spire, carrying post after post with its flaming sword.
6 JOURNAL. [1835.
About half way down the spire were four large oval
windows looking toward the four corners of the heavens.
When the fire reached these it burst forth with redoubled
energy. The pent-up flames glared brighter and shot up
more fiercely. At intervals burning rafters fell, and again
the molten copper yielded, and the spire sank sullenly
inward, "shrivelling like a parched scroll."
The sun set, and the long twilight came slowly on;
and still the fire burned, and the crowds in the streets
and the market-places and on the quays and the bridges
looked sadly into each other's faces. Some wept, and
hid their faces in their hands ; others shook their heads
and said, "We shall look no more upon Eiddarholms
Church."
The fire had now reached that part of the spire which,
spreading out like the mouth of a trumpet, rested upon
the square tower of the belfry. Here the flames grew ten-
fold, and gleamed through like summer lightning. At
length a crackling sound came, and the copper sheath
parted below and slid down like the skin of a ripe fig,
leaving the skeleton of the rafters a scaffold of fire, with
a high pyramid of flame flaring southward. This fell ere
long, scattering a thousand firebrands through the air, and
leaving the square tower standing, like an altar upon
which a great sacrifice had been offered. The smoke now
began to pour forth from a little spire at the farther ex-
tremity of the church. The fire had found its way under
the main roof. Ere long a flame darted up through the
copper of the roof, disappeared, darted up again, and
spread, and the smoke became more dense and the fire
stronger. The roof near the main tower bent and sank,
and the flames burst forth with dazzling brightness. How
strange looked the upturned faces in the Square of Gus-
tavus Vasa in that glare ! Gradually the whole roof sank ;
but there was no light from the wiadows of the church.
1836.] JOURNAL ANJD LETTERS. 7
The inner roof, of vaulted stone, had saved the tombs
of the kings. Without, the flames still raged, spreading
to the dome and spire of Gustav Adolf's chapel. The
chapel of Charles XII. escaped the conflagration, the wiad
bearing the flames from it. There it stood, dark and
strong against the burning mass. I almost expected to
see the form of the stern old warrior arise from its tomb
and still the raging fire!
King Bernadotte was at Eosersberg all this time, but
came posting to town about three in the morning, and
drove straightway to the scene. He is said to have been
enraged that the church was suffered to burn, and said
they should have shot off the spire at the beginning with
a cannon-ball.
To G. W. Greene (in Italy).
Heidelberg, February 11, 1836.
. . . Let me persuade you [to write a History of Italian
Literature]. Just this niche seems to be left in the wall,
into which you must put just this statue. The sooner
you are about it the better. And here allow me to sug-
gest a plan which I am myself pursuing in collecting and
arranging materials for a Literary History of the Middle
Ages (which you must remember is a secret, — not the
plan, but my proposed work). I have a blank book, which
I divide into centuries. Under each century I write down
the names of the authors who then flourished, when they
were born and died, if known, what works they wrote,
where their works, or extracts from them, may be found,
and what editions are best. This is done in as few words
as possible, prose and poetry being separated. At the be-
ginning of the blank book is a list of works cited, the full
title being given, with date and form very exact. This
8 LETTERS. [1836.
saves the trouble of writing and re-writing as you go
along. The name standing alone shows that the entire
work or poem is to be found on the page noted. When
only an extract is given, I say, "Extract," etc. This
avoids all confusion. I have already accumulated six
centuries of German literature in this way.^ I hardly
know what put this idea into my head ; it is one of the
most useful that ever found its way thither. The ad-
vantages of this plan are obvious. You have thus the
whole field of your labor before you. In a moment you
can put your finger upon anybody and anything you want.
If you think the plan worth adoption, be careful to leave
blank pages and spaces enough between the paragraphs
for corrections and additions. I am sorry you should feel
any misgivings as to your success in the literary world.
Believe me, your love for literary labor is a sure guarantee
of success. Go on quietly and without anxiety, enjoying
the present in the blessing of a mind contented and self-
possessed, and you will wake up some morning and find
yourself famous, as Byron says he did. All this good
advice is sufficiently prosaic, and will remind you of that
class of books which goes under the title, " Letters to a
Younger Brother," etc., — very didactic and very dull. You
must remember I only suggest plans for your consideration.
I feel a lively interest in your success, and am anxious
that you should so commence your Literary History of
Italy as to waste no time nor labor. About my proposed
visit to Italy I can say nothing now. How ardently I
desire such a visit, you can imagine. If the thing is pos-
sible, it shall be done. God bless you !
1 This ' Syllabus ' was printed in the (New York) Eclectic Re-
view in 1841. Other occupations prevented the plan of a History
from being carried out.
From a pekcil-sketch.
1836.] LETTERS. 9
From Oeorge Ticknor}
Dresden, February 19, 1836.
. . . Our dates from home are to January 6 direct;
but through Dr. Julius^ to the 16th, the day he left
New York. He met with a great loss there in the great
fire, — seven large boxes of books, documents, and manu-
scripts which he had collected from all quarters of the
country ; among others one large chest of very curious
matters relating to our Indians, including a manuscript of
Heckewelder which he found at Bethlehem. . . .
Of news that will interest you more nearly, I do not
know that I can tell you much. . . . Eev. Dr. Channing
has published a little volume on Slavery, written, I un-
derstand, with all his accustomed eloquence and energy,
but which does not seem to have been regarded as a "word
in season. It will do him, however, none the less credit
in Europe, where his name stands higher than I expected
to find it, much as I have been accustomed to admire him.
My bookseller here told me the other day that his works
are very often inquired after ; and a letter was brought to
me recently from the Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau, asking
how she could get them. Miss Martineau, as you have
perhaps heard, attended an anti-slavery meeting of ladies
in Boston, and made some remarks which have caused her
to be a good deal neglected by society there.
... I have written you this hurried letter merely that
I might get the pleasure of hearing from you again. I
pray you do not let me be disappointed or wait long.
Yours very sincerely,
George Ticknob.
' Mr. Longfellow was at this time in Heidelberg.
^ Dr. N. H. Julius, wbo after his return to Germany published
some books on America.
CHAPTER IT.
CORRESPONDENCK
1837-1850.
To Madame de Sailly {in Paris).
Boston, November 14, 1837.
I beg leave to recall myself to your remembrance by
presenting my near friend, Mr. Sumner, who will pass
some months in your gay metropolis, pour son plaisir.
I trust you have not wholly forgotten Auteuil and the
Bois de Boulogne. I visited them not long ago, — in the
summer of 1836 ; but alas, how changed ! The maison de
sante (excuse me for calling up that doleful place to your
memory) is still standing, and is still a maison de sante.
But no Mme de Sailly is there, no M. Lambin, no dumb
man from Nantes with a slate and a patient wife ; and, in
fine, no Nigaud. The garden still exists, and the ice-
house where they deposited the dead body of the English
colonel who died mad. Sweet recollections of Auteuil!
Why, it made me sad for live minutes ; after which, things
went on as usual.
I searched Paris, from the Arc de Triomphe to Pere la
Chaise, to find you, but all in vain ; and this ihade me sad
for five days, — that is, a quarter of the time I was in Paris.
I hope my friend will be more fortunate.
From Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Boston, May 16, 1839.
Dear Longfellow, — Why do you never come to see
me, or at least make inquiry after me, either in the Cus-
1840.] CORRESPONDENCE. 11
tom-House or at No. 8 Somerset Place ? I wanted to talk
about a great many things, most of which are now past
talking about ; but, nevertheless, I should still be glad to
see you. And I have done nothing yet about publishing
a new volume of Tales, and should like to take counsel
with you on that matter. If I write a preface it will be
to bid farewell to literature; for, as a literary man, my
new occupations entirely break me up.
If you come to Boston next Saturday, caU on me. Very
probably you may not find me, for Uncle Sam is rather
despotic as to the disposal of my time; but I shall be
grateful for your good-will.
Yours truly,
Nath. Hawthorne.
From N. P. Willis.
Glenmabt, September 15, 1840.
My dear Longfellow, — I had thought it probable
that I should see you here this summer. I was sorry to
get the assurance that you were not to fly from your orbit
of east wind. I wanted to have a talk with you. That
same east wind, by the way, was the reason I did not see
you while I was in Boston ; for I devoted one afternoon
to a drive to Cambridge, and on heading round from
Brookline the pestilent Use met us full on the quarter,
and Mrs. Willis declared she could not stand it. So I up
helm for my sister's house in Brighton, and we finished
the evening over a fire. I confess that I see everything,
even my friends, through my bilious spectacles in Boston.
I do not enjoy anything or anybody within its abominable
periphery of hills and salt-marshes. Even you seem not
what you would at Glenmary ; and I prefer Sumner sea-
sick in a head-wind in the English Channel, to Sumner
with his rosiest gUl^ and reddest waistcoat in Boston.
e>
12 CORRESPONDENCE. [1840.
By the way, how is our agreeable friend ; and have the
nankeen-trousered Bostonians yet begun to qualify their
admiration of him ? I consider his advent a kind of eao-
perimentum crucis ; and if they do turn and abuse Mm,
they will certainly go to perdition for Uliberality. There
is no excuse for disliking Sumner. He bears his honors
so meekly, and is so thoroughly a good fellow, that if they
do not send him to Congress and love him forever, I will
deny my cradle.
I am going to New York in a week or two, and one of
my bringings back will be your Voices of the Night, of
which I have only read the extracts in the newspapers.
I see perfectly the line you are striking out for a renown,
and it wiU succeed. Your severe, chaste, lofty-thoughted
style of poetry will live a great deal longer than that
which would be more salable and popular now; and if
you preferred the money and the hurrah, I should be as
sorry as I am to be obliged to do so myself. Still, I think
you are not quite merchant enough with your poems after
they are written, and about this I talked a great deal with
Sumner, who will disgorge for you.
How, and what fashion of Benedick, is Felton ? Him
I should like to see too, on an unprejudiced potato-hill, —
out of Boston, that is to say ; and next year, if I am here,
I will try what persuasion will do to get him and his wife,
you and Sumner and Cleveland, at Glenmary, in literary
congress. I have built a new slice to my house, and have
plenty of room for you all. Will you, seriously, talk of
this and try to shape it out ? Tell Felton I was highly
gratified and obliged by the kind and flattering review of
my poems in the North American. It has done me, I
doubt not, great service ; fa veut dire I can make better
bargains with editors and publishers, — about all I think
worth minding in the way of popular opinion. Will you
write me a long letter and tell me what you think of your
1841.] COHRESPONDENGE. 13
own literary position, and whetlier a blast from " Under the
Bridge " would make your topsails belly ? ^ I will express
all the admiration I feel for your sweet poems, if you care
a rush for it, — indeed, I think I shall do it whether you
like it or no. God bless you, dear Longfellow ! Believe me
Yours very faithfully,
N. P. Willis.
From E. A. Poe.
Philadelphia, May 3, 1841.
Dear Sie, — Mr. George E. Graham, proprietor of Gra-
ham's Magazine, a monthly journal published in this
city and edited by myself, desires me to beg of you the
honor of your contribution to its pages. Upon the prin-
ciple that we seldom obtain what we very anxiously covet,
I confess that I have but little hope of inducing you to
write for us, — and, to say truth, I fear that Mr. Graham
would have opened the negotiation much better in his
own person, for I have no reason to think myself favor-
ably known to you; but the attempt was to be made, and
I make it.
I should be overjoyed if we could get from you an
article each month, — either poetry or prose, — length and
subject a discretion. In respect to terms, we would gladly
offer you carte blanche; and the periods of payment
should also be made to suit yourself.
In conclusion, I cannot refrain from availing myself of
this, the only opportunity I may ever have, to assure the
author of the ' Hymn to the Mght,' of the ' Beleaguered
City,' and of the ' Skeleton in Armor,' of the fervent ad-
miration with which his genius has inspired me; and
* Mr. WilUs was writing at this time for the New York Mirror
a series of articles called " Letters from under a Bridge," afterward
published in a volume with the title " A. I'Abri."
14 CORIIESPONDENCE. [1841.
yet I would scarcely hazard a declaration whose import
might be so easily misconstrued, and which bears with it,
at best, more or less of niaiserie, were I not convinced
that Professor Longfellow, writing and thinking as he
does, wUl be at no loss to feel and to appreciate the
honest sincerity of what I say. "With the highest respect,
Your obedient servant,
Edgae a. Fob.
To G. W. Greene {in Borne).
Cambridge, June 10, 1841.
I hope you will like Hyperion. It is a sincere book ;
showing the passage of a morbid mind into a purer and
healthier state. In the same package I send you two
copies of the Voices of the Night. You will see that
it is the fifth edition, — and this within eighteen months of
its first appearance ; which is more like success than any-
thing I have hitherto experienced. One copy is for your
friend Crawford, the other for Manzoni. Have the good-
ness to send it with a couple of lines from yourself, as you
will perceive that I have written only his name in it. My
kind regards to Crawford. He is a true man of genius.
The country will be very proud of him. His bust of you
is exquisite. How many times must I tell you this?
Often, as I look at " it, my eyes grow moist with feeling.
Every one is delighted with it. Indeed, you seem to be
in the midst of us here ; and not long ago, in the middle
of dinner, Sumner cried aloud, " What a bust that is !
How like Greene ! "
Sumner, Eelton, and Howe dine with me to-day. We
will crown your bust with flowers.
1841.] CORRESPONDENCE. 15
From Esaias TegnSr}
BoKEDAL, near Gotheborg, July 10, 1841.
Three years ago — when I was here at Bokedal, visiting
Wyk and his beautiful wife, the most beautiful woman in
Sweden — I received the letter and fragmentary transla-
tions of Frithiof with which the Herr Professor honored
me.^ Professional duties, the Eiksdag, recently adjourned,
and above all a severe nervous illness, have prevented my
expressing my thanks as I ought for all this. Without
exactly setting the highest value on public opinion, either
in or out of my own country, and taking the Horatian
malignum spernere vulgus for my motto, I rejoice, of
course, to find my poems reproduced in so admirable a
manner, and particularly for a nation which I value. It
has always been my conviction that English is of all lan-
guages the one which is best adapted to translation from
Swedish; for the English love, as we do, to concentrate
expression, either thought or figure, within the briefest
possible space ; to flash a short but sharp sword : whereas
the German prefers long, dragging sentences, and likes to
encase his weapons in a scabbard of hogskin. English, on
the other hand, is a collection of laconisms, and the so-
much misunderstood Pope, with his keenly sharpened
antitheses, has always appeared to me the true representa-
tive of the genius of the English language. Among the
four or five translations of Frithiof which I have had oc-
casion to see, there is none as yet with which I have been
fully satisfied, except the Herr Professor's. Where the
translator has understood the meaning, which has not
* I am indebted to Mrs. Gade for this translation of the Swedish
original.
'^ These translations were printed in an article on Frithiof s Saga
in the North American Review, July, 1837, and republished in his
complete works under the heading of Drift-wood.
16 CORRESPONDENCE. [1841-
always been the case, the translation has often suffered
from ignorance of technicalities or insufficient command
over his own language. Lethman's is better in this re-
spect. But before all I place the Herr Professor's, both as
regards understanding of the original and versification.
The only fault I have to find with the translation is that
it is not complete ; and to this I take the liberty of calling
the attention of the Herr Professor, so that I may be able
to say that Frithiof is weU translated into at least one
language.
This winter I begin the publication of a collection of
my writings in verse and prose. The collection is to be
divided into four series, each containing about twenty to
thirty volumes, and I hope to be able to publish the first
series within a year from now. Large parts of the con-
tents have never appeared in print before. By Wyk's
ship I shall send a copy of this to America as soon as it
leaves the press, addressed to the Herr Professor, as a mark
of my esteem and gratitude. The latter would be still far-
ther increased should the Herr Professor think something
in it worthy of translation.
My edition of Frithiof accompanies this letter.
With high regard and affection,
The Herr Professor's humble servant,
Es. Tegn^r.
To Charles Sumner.
October, 1841.
After you left me last evening I dragged the ' Biver
Charles ' and got out all the stones that ruffled the smooth-
flowing current. The celestial emendations I wish to in-
troduce into Bentley's Magazine copy. Therefore, if
not too late, keep back the letters and bring them out
with you on Saturday. You must come. It is very
1842.] CORRESPONDENCE. 17
important to tread with iron heel upon the last pieces of
my new volume ^ and winnow out the chaff.
Love to Hillard. Do not forget the ' Luck of Edenhall.'
To Charles Sumner.
Portland, February 15, 1842.
Your parting injunction, as we stood shaking hands
under the dim street-lamp at twelve the other night, was
" Write ! " At day-break the next morning I was on my
way eastward ; saw the sun rise from the sea, which you
never did ; and rolled rapidly on to Portsmouth. There
we took the stage-coach and bumped in it to Goose Creek,
running into a wagon on the way, and knocking a woman
in a plaid cloak into the mud. At Goose Creek we took
the cars for Portland, where my arrival was celebrated by
six small boys imitating the steam-whistle. To borrow
the expression of a fellow-traveller, we were "ticketed
through to the depot " (pronouncing the last word so as
to rhyme with teapot), and carriages were in waiting.
Such was my triumphal entry into the city of my na-
tivity ! I have not yet been honored with a public din-
ner, but a portrait-painter occupies several hours of the
mornings, and will send me down to posterity with a face
as red as Lord Morpeth's waistcoat. The painter's name
is Cole, — a good fellow, who has made me a present of a
painting of great merit. It is a portrait of Mrs. Wright,
the renowned maker of wax-work figures (the "original
Jarley"). The painting is probably by West, and though
unfinished, is striking and valuable. For an account of
Mrs. Wright, see Mrs. Adams's Letters, p. 228.
I have seen John Neal. He thinks the Bostonians
1 " Ballads and other Poems" was published in December, 1841,
though dated forward, 1842.
2
18 COKRESPONDENCE. [1842.
have made fools of themselves in the Dickens affair.^ I
half agree with him. Everybody here thinks Hillard's
speech the best made [at the dinner] ; which shows their
good taste. -
It is near midnight ; so farewell, and to bed, — perchance
to dream some blessed dream that shall perfume the night
and give me fragrant thoughts for a week. Such dreams
be yours ! Good night.
To Charles Sumner,
New York, April 26, 1842.
Your letter reached me this afternoon, and made my
heart swell into my throat.^ But I have determined to
put away all the gloomy forebodings which are wont to
haunt the imaginations of the outward-bound. I send
you back, then, none of the darkness which, as you can
easily imagine — you who know so well how truly I love
my friends — at times usurps the empire of my thoughts,
but a parting gleam of sunshine, as a farewell and a bene-
diction. Meanwhile I treasure up your kind parting
words in my iamost soul, and will read your letter over
again far out at sea, and hear in it friendly voices from
the shore.
1 have passed three days very pleasantly here, though
my impatience hardly brooks any delay, and I am restless
to begin my pilgrimage. The "Wards are all well. J.
thinks you might have called a second time to see them.
I think so likewise ; for she is certainly a remarkable per-
son, and worth a half-dozen calls at least. Sam is as "mul-
tifarious as ever: in the morning reads Livy an hour
* The rather exuberantly enthusiastic reception of Mr. Dickens on
his first visit.
2 See Life, i. 401. Mr. Longfellow was setting out on a voy^e
to Europe for his health.
1845.] CORRESPONDENCE. 19
before breakfast with Mersch, then hurries down to his
business; rides on horseback before dinner, and sings
Italian duets after. Of the other individuals I have seen,
my letter to Felton will inform you. I have been this
evening to see a play called Boz. It is a caricature of
Dickens's reception here. The best joke in the piece is an
invitation from the members of an engine company to see
a fire, and the request to know whether he wiU have a
single house burned, or a whole block. He is also invited
to see a steamer burst her boiler on the North Eiver ! I
tried hard to amuse myself, but found it dull.
But one of my candles is sinking in its socket. It is
nearly one o'clock, and I am the only person up in the
house. You see I devote my last moments and last
thoughts to you. Think of me often and long. My kind-
est remembrances to Hiliard, Cleveland, and Howe. You
hardly know what it costs me to leave you all. Once
more, Benedicite ! When this reaches you I shall be rock-
ing on the broad sea, thinking of you all through many
long hours.
P. S. — At this very moment two voices, not the most
melodious, are singing under the window, "Thou, thou
reign'st in this bosom ! " A serenade, — to which of the
three ? If to J., they will not gain much by the trans-
action ; they sing too horribly out of tune.
From W. H. Preseott.
Pepperell, June 25, 1845.
I am much obliged to you, my dear Longfellow, for the
elegant volume you have sent me [Poets and Poetry of
Europe]. It is a delightful bouquet of wild-flowers,
picked off from old tumble-down ruins and out-of-the-way
nooks and by-paths where the foot of the common travel-
ler seldom treads.
20 CORRESPONDENCE. [1847.
The Scandinavian versions are particularly agreeable.
We of the Anglo-Saxon family have a feeling and a relish
for these old songs which is hardly to be expected in
other races, \yho have not exactly the same chord in their
bosoms to be vibrated.
The biographical sketches make the whole very com-
plete, and put the reader ia the right position for compre-
hending the strange verse. The book, I am sure, will
attract attention on the other side of the water as well as
on this.
We keep our villeggiatura at Pepperell, not flitting
at all to Nahant this summer. So I fear I shall have
to be guilty of another omission of my duties at the
Examination.^
Yours faithfully,
W. H. Peescott.
To Charles Sumner.
Oak Grove, near Portland, August 14, 1847.
Your brief note by James Greenleaf, and the larger one
dated from the Craigie House, came safe to the seaside.
I have always regretted the dismantling of that conse-
crated chamber.^ But what can one do against the rising
tide of the rising generation ? This morning I see in the
" Daily " the first notice of your Amherst oration, taken
from a Spriagfield paper. The epithets are "brilliant,"
' Mr. Prescott was for several years one of the Examining
Committee in the department of Modem Languages at Harvard
College.
' The southeast chamber of Craigie House, which had been Gen-
eral Washington's room, and was Mr. Longfellow's study till 1845,
when it became the nursery. It was the room in which the Voices
of the Night and Hyperion were written, and had witnessed many
an earnest conversation and many a friendly supper.
18i7.] CORRESPONDENCE. 21
" powerful/' " excellent," etc. We rejoice in every success
of yours, and long to hear your own account of the matter.
By this time you must have conquered a little leisure.
Pray use it to visit us here. On reaching Portland ask
for the Veranda omnibus, and you will be brought to
this delightful spot speedily. Come as soon as you can.
Bring Felton, and Hillard's letter, and we will have a
merry day or two before leaving this oracular grove. The
view from our windows is charming. It commands the
harbor, and has a glimpse of the old fort in Portland,
which, oddly enough, bears the name of Fort Sumner.
It was one of the terrors of my childhood.
From J. L. Motley.
Chestnut Street, Boston, December 18, 1847.
My dear Longfellow, — I have delayed thanking you
for the copy of ' Evangeline ' which you were kind enough
to send me, but I assure you that I have not made the
same delay in reading it. I had, in fact, read it more than
once before your copy reached me, and I have since read
it over two or three times. I find it in many respects
superior to anything you have pubhshed. As it is the
longest, so it is the most complete, the most artistically
finished, of all your poems. I know nothing better in the
language, or in any language, than all the landscape
painting. The Southwestern pictures are strikingly vig-
orous and new. The story is well handled and the in-
terest well sustained. Some of the images are as well
conceived and as statuesquely elaborated as anything you
have ever turned out of your atelier, — which is saying
a great deal.
You must permit me, however, to regret that you have
chosen hexameters, — for which I suppose you will think
me a blockhead. Although yours are as good as, and
22 CORKESPONDENCE. [1847.
probably a great deal better than,. any other English
hexameters (of •which I have, however, but small experi-
ence), yet they will not make music to my ear, nor can I
carry them in my memory. There are half a dozen par-
ticular passages in which the imagery is chiselled like an
intaglio, which would make a permanent impression on
my memory if it were not for the length of the metre ; as
it is, I only remember the thought without the diction,
— which is losing a great deal. Thus 'the description of
the mocking-bird,^ the mimosa-like hearts which shrink at
1 Mr. Longfellow, by way of experiment, wrote oat the passage
about the mocking-bird in the ordinary English pentameter verse.
The reader may be interested in comparing the two forms, and will
hardly fail to give the preference to the poet's choice of metres.
Here are the two: —
Upon a spray that overhang the stream,
The mocking-bird, awaking from his dream.
Poured such delirious music from his throat
That all the air seemed listening to his note.
Plaintive at first the song began, and slow :
It breathed of sadness and of pain and woe ;
Then, gathering all his notes, abroad he flung
The multitudinous music from his tongue, —
As, after showers, a sudden gust again
Upon the leaves shakes down the rattling rain.
Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then siJaring to madness
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ;
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision.
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches.
Evangeline, ii. 2.
It is not, however, in descriptive passages like this that the supe-
riority of the hexameter for the poet's purpose is shown, so much as
in the continuous narrative, of which the poem largely consists.
1848.] CORKESPONDENCE. 23
the hoof-'beats of fate, and many other such passages. . . .
There is a want [in English hexameters] of the recoil, the
springiness, which makes a Latin hexameter sound as if
you pulled out a piece of Indian rubber and let it snap
back again. ... I suppose you will have had quite enough
of my lecture upon hexameters by this time. I can only
assure you, in conclusion, that I sincerely admire ' Evan-
geline,' and that the metre is the only fault I have to find
with it. Once more thanking you for remembering me,
I am very sincerely yours,
J. L. Motley.
From William Whewell to George Bancroft}
Trinity Lodge, Cambridge, February 4, 1848.
My dear Sik, — I have just been reading a poem by
Mr. Longfellow which appears to me more replete with
genuine beauties of American growth than any other pro-
duction of your poets which I have seen. The story
refers to Acadie, and one of the incidents is the deporta-
tion of a whole village of peaceful inhabitants (the village
is called Grand Pr^) by the soldiers and sailors of " King
George." I am afraid that Mr. Longfellow had some his-
torical ground for this event. . . . Will you have the
kindness to tell me — no one can do it so well — what
this history is, and where I shall find it? No doubt many
1 Enclosing this letter to Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Bancroft (then
Minister in England) wrote as follows : " To be praised by one's
ends is delightful, because the approval is warmed by affection ;
but love is a corrupter of judgment, and the praise of a stranger is
the voice of impartiality. Yesterday I received the enclosed note
from Dr. Whewell, whose opinion Mr. Everett can best tell you how
to value. I hear of you now and then through Mr. Sumner, and
always rejoice in your happiness and increasing fame.''
Mr. Edward Everett had sent the poem to Dr. Whewell, who
wrote a long and appreciative review of it in Eraser's Magazine.
24 CORRESPONDENCE. [1848.
incidents in our treatment of our colonies have left deep
memories on your side of the Atlantic which we know
little about.
Yours most truly,
W. Whewell.
From Nathaniel Eawthorne.
Salem, February 10, 1848.
Deae Longfellow, — I should have come to see you
to-day had it not been so fearfully cold. Next week, if
God permit (and signify his good pleasure by a clear sky
and mild temperature), I will certainly come. The idea
of a history of Acadie takes my fancy greatly ; but I fear
I should not be justifiable to the world were I to take it
out of the abler hands of Professor Felton. I went to
hear his lecture last night, and was much interested. We
will talk it over. You have made the subject so popular
that a history could hardly fail of circulation.
I write in my office [at the Custom-house], and am
pestered by intruders.
Ever your friend,
Nath"- Hawthorne.
Frmn Josiah Quincy}
Boston, February 21, 1848.
Deae Sie, — My daughter informs me that you desired
her to remind me of my promise to send you a copy of
the English hexameter lines I had repeated to you. This
I will do with great pleasure, premising that I know not
who was their author. They are among the relics of the
vanishing recollections of my college life. They have
been carried in my memory at least sixty years, and may
^ Ex-President of Harvard University.
181.8.] CORRESPONDENCE. 26
have lost something in place, by the jostling of the vehicle,
.in the course of so long a transportation.
This species of verse is capable of effecting a majesty of
expression which is now only attainable in our blank
verse. It has also the advantage, from the uniformity in
the termination of the lines, of gratifying the ear like our
English rhyme, but without its jingle. It is obvious that
the degree of success, in point of melody, which those lines
have attained, is owing to the strictness with which the
law of the hexameter verse has been observed in them.
Speaking in the language of the schools, that law requires
that the last two feet of every line should consist of a
dactyl and spondee, and that one or more spondees should
be inserted, with art and taste, among the dactyls of the
four first feet, except in cases where they are omitted for
the sake of effect. Now, in observing the first branch of
this law there is, from the nature of the English language,
comparatively but little dif&culty ; for dactyls are of con-
stant occurrence in the modifications of our language, and
as by the law above mentioned the last syllable of every
line may be common, a trochee is substituted for a spon-
dee, which is also in accordance with the genius of our
language. . . .
I have used the school terms " dactyl " and " spondee " as
being best adapted to illustrate my ideas on the subject,
and not because I think the rules of Greek or Latin pros-
ody capable, with any exactness, to be applied to English
poetry. But I have long entertained the opinion that a
much greater approximation to perfection is attainable
in that species of verse (hexameter) than has ever been
effected, or perhaps attempted. The pleasure I derived
from your ' Evangeline ' opened a vein of thought which I
could not stop running, nor refrain from giving you the
trouble of its issues.
Yet I cannot but think that a man of true poetic genius.
26 CORRESPONDENCE. [184.8.
like one I could mention, witli a little attention to the se-
lection of words, and considerable labor in the collocation
of them, might approach very near, even in our language,
to the perfection of the hexameter verse ; and since all
melody in verse depends upon the aft distribution of the
proportions of quantity, and as there is no species of verse
more powerful than the hexameter, I hope still to see the
day, and think I know the auspices, under which it may
be attempted and effected.
I had no idea of leading you such a journey when I
, took up my pen. I know that some things wUl make you
smile, perhaps others make you sneer. However that
may be, I am indifferent, as the main object of my let-
ter is effected by the opportunity it affords to subscribe
myself,
Very truly your friend and obliged servant,
JOSIAH QUINCY.
From Mrs. Basil Montague to Charles Sumner.
London, March, 1848.
... I have infected my husband and all my friends
with such an enthusiastic love of Hyperion that we are
not disposed to like Mr. L.'s ' Evangeline ' so much as we
ought to do. My husband is reading Hyperion for the
fourth time, as he reads everything, weighing every sen-
tence ; and he is more and more pleased with it. In every
mood I find something to relish. . . . Everything he
writes is charming, from the beautiful feeling breath-
ing through it; and I can scarcely read anything from
his pen without tears, at the same time that he gives
token of an exquisite sense of humor. My husband
thinks him not only a very fine poet, but also a true
philosopher.
1848.] CORRESPONDENCE. 27
From Ferdinand FreUigrath.
London, March 11, 1848.
Dearest Longfellow, — Forgive the shortness of these
lines in answer to your friendly letter of February 14. I
am so wholly taken up by these glorious events in France ^
(whose influence on Germany, as it was to be expected,
begins already to become visible) that I am scarcely able
to think of anything else, and that my own fate and my
own concerns for a time seem quite second considerations.
Yet are these great world-shaking occurrences of a nature
that also my little individual lot may get another direction
by them, — little as I would have dreamt of such a thing still
a fortnight ago. About that and about " business " in gen-
eral I have written to Professor Beck, who will communi-
cate to you the particulars. For the present, let me offer
to you my warmest thanks for all you have done ; and be
assured that if I come still to America, the first roof
under which I rest from my wanderings shall be Wash-
ington's and yours ! God's blessings over that roof for its
old fame and its young hospitality !
I join some verses which were vsrritten uiider the im-
pression of the first news from Paris, and which I have
scattered in some thousand copies "le long du Ehin," —
most uselessly, I dare say, for in times like these, events
themselves are the best agitators. When mankind,
roused by the spirit of history, becomes a poet, rhymes
are superfluous. Yet I could not shake off these, which
came unsought for amidst all the bustle of business.
' Evangeline ' came to hand, was read eagerly, and gave
to me as well as to Ida the greatest pleasure and satisfac-
tion. It is a masterpiece, and stands on my shelves,
* The revolution which dethroned Louis Philippe and established
the Republic.
28 CORKESPONDENCl. [1848.
not near Voss's ' Louise,' but near old Wolfgang's ' Her-
mann and Dorothea.' I cannot now enter into any de-
tails ; but I cannot omit to mention how, among so many
other beautiful passages, I was struck by that truly grand
and sublime one, when the returning tide suddenly an-
swers the voice of the priest at old Benedict's funeral
service. Such strokes reveal the poet.
Some weeks ago I had the pleasure of seemg Mr.
Latham, a former pupil of yours and Beck's, whom you
introduced to me by some lines. I like him very much, —
such a straightforward, honest fellow. He must now be
again with you.
Ida's and my love to all of you. God bless you !
Always truly and affectionately thine,
F. Feeiligeath.
From John Forster.
58 Lincoln's Inn Fields, London,
September 4, 1848.
My deae Longfellow, — I cannot send you an ' Evan-
geline ' (I wish I could !), but such as I can I send you.
Macready promises to convey safely to you the accom-
panying volume.
How beautiful and masterly your poem is ! I have very
little to object to in it, except the hexameter; I cannot
reconcile myself to that. The genius of the language is
adverse. But you have done more with it, I honestly
think, than any other [English] writer. Your pictures
are charming throughout, radiant with color, rich in
emotion ; and you do as much with a single word very
often as the best of our old poets. But I am going to
speak of the poem elsewhere, and shall say no more here.
Did you see what Whewell said of it ?
Hillard has made himself popular here, and we shall
all grieve to lose him. Your sight, I hope, is better than
1849.] COREESPONDENCE. 29
it was. I shall be rejoiced to hear that all is well with
you, and grateful for a letter, however brief. Believe me,
my dear friend.
Always most sincerely yours,
John Forstek.
From Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Salem, November 21, 1848.
Deae Longfellow, — I will gladly come on Thursday,
unless something unexpected should thrust itself into the
space between. Thoreau is to be at my house, as he is
engaged to lecture here on Wednesday evening; and I
shall take the liberty to bring him with me, unless he
have scruples about intruding on you. You would find
him well worth knowing; he is a man of thought and
originality, with a certain iron-poker-ishness, an uncom-
promising stiffness in his mental character which is inter-
esting, though it grows rather wearisome on close and
frequent acquaintance. I shall be very glad to see EUery
Channing, — gladder to see you.
Your friend,
Nath"- Hawthoene.
From B. W. Emerson.
CoNCOED, January 5, 1840.
My deae Longfellow, — I send you a poem which
you must find time to read, and which I know you will
like.^ The author is, or was lately, a Fellow of Oriel Col-
lege, Oxford, and was Dr. Arnold's favorite pupil when at
Eugby. I knew him at Oxford, and spent a month in
Paris with him ; valued him dearly : but I confess I never
' This was A. H. Clough's poem, "The Bothie of Toper-na-
Fuosich' (afterward changed to Toper-na-Vnolich).
30 CORKESPONDENOE. [1849.
suspected all this poetical fury and wealth of expression.
Will you not, after trying his verses, leave it for me at
James Munro's in Boston, — say on Wednesday or Thurs-
day? EUery Channing has kept Jasmin from me till
lately; so it must stay yet a little longer with me.
Yours ever,
E. W. Emekson.
To Charles Sumner.
Portland, July 28, 1849.
Thanks for your newspapers and the letters. Pray
come yourself next. This is a beautiful place. We will
walk by the seaside and discourse of many things, — most
of the woes of much-suffering mortals, particularly the
Eomans ; maledicent of the French and the false-hearted
and treacherous who govern ill-fated France.^ Likewise
we will vilipend the London Times, in whose great fer-
menting vats is adulterated the generous wine of Truth,
as the juice of the grape in the London Docks. To think
that it should be sent over here as the genuine article,
and that the good people here should smack their hps
over it, and twirl it round in their little hearts as in small
glasses, and say, " How delightful ! "
From Edward Everett.
Cambridqe, December 27, 1849.
Dear Sie, — Allow me to return our united thajiks for
the delightful little volume so kindly sent us, which re-
news our agreeable acquaintance with some favorites and
introduces us to others, their equals in interest. The
' Launch ' is admirable. Some strains in the volume, I
^ This year, it will be remembered, was tbat of the occupation of
Eome by French troops in suppression of the Republic.
1850.] CORRESPONDENCE. 31
need not say, are well calculated to reach the hearts of all
parents who, like us, have had the misfortune to loSe
beloved children.
Believe me, dear sir, with great regard.
Sincerely yours,
Edwakd Everett.
From Frederika Bremer}
BosTONj February 26, 1850.
My deae Sir, — For your little kind and friendly note
let me thank you most heartily, as well as for so many
other tokens of your amiable and benevolent feelings
which you have bestowed upon me. You have been and
are very good to me, and so is your wife ; and I feel it
more than I can express. I certainly think that the
hand which you kindly say you "hold" will not prove
false to my wish to come once more to you and enjoy
your company more truly than I have been able to do it,
in this time of my eclipse. Indeed, I have not been half
alive these past three months. But they are past, and,
thank God ! I feel the spring coming in body as well as in
mind.
Just now I have been able to recover among my books
these songs of Truneberg I told you of. Pray keep them
and use them as it pleases you. The extraordinary sensa-
tion they have created throughout Sweden, and even in
Denmark, speaks for their excellence. Then they are
simple and unassuming as the mosses on my native moun-
tains, and derive their power from their freshness and
moral purity and force. Since the poems of Tegner none
have created so universal enthusiasm in Sweden as these
" sagner."
' The author of the Swedish novels, The Home, The Neighbors,
etc., vras then, on a visit in the United States. She left with Mr.
Longfellow a cast of her hand. She died in 1866.
32 CORRESPONDENCE. [1850.
Your songs and sketches from Sweden will be my
companions on my tour through your country, and the
memory of your kindness and good-wUl shall follow me to
my native land and forever !
Eemember me, my dear sir, as your grateful friend,
Feedeeika Beemee.
CHAPTER III.
COREESPONDENCE.
1852-1860.
To Charles Sumner.
May 13, 1852.
It is raining beautifully, and all the fields look green.
For half an hour I have been trying to write a poem : not
succeeding, I write to you, knowing that in that I shall
succeed, — after a fashion, at least.
George must have told you of our meeting the Kossuths
at Howe's. We have seen them since, and like them
much. Also the Pulszkys, of whom we have seen more.
They have dined with us twice, quite without ceremony,
so that we have seen them to advantage. What a sad fate !
" Di tutti i miseri m' incresce ; ma ho maggior pietd di co-
loro, i quali. in esiglio affliggendosi, vedono solamente in
sogno la patria loro ! " And to have gross insults thrust
into their faces in the newspapers! Dante was spared
that, at least, in his exile !
We read of your brother Henry's death, and sympa-
thize with you. So moves on the great funeral procession ;
and who knows how soon we shall lead it, and no longer
follow !
From George Sumner.
Newport, October 3, 1852.
My dear Longfellow, — I will not any longer delay
telling you the pleasure which Washington Irving re-
ceived from your remembrance. During one of our
3
34 COERESPONDENCE. [1852.
charming morning drives — lasting from eleven to three —
he discussed your works ; and, while admiring all, he gave
the palm to Hyperion. Irving is full of life and anima-
tion. His trip to Saratoga has done him much good. He
has been rejuvenated ; and, astonished at his own force,
he now exclaims, " Who would have thought the old man
had so much blood in him ? " . . .
Ever yours,
Geokge Sumner.
From G. P. R. James.
Stockbridge, Mass., January 4, 1852.
Deae Me. Longfellow, — I have read your Golden
Legend four times, and am delighted with it. I like it
better than ' Evangeline,' although I feel sure the latter is
your own favorite ; and perhaps it will please " the gen-
eral " more. But the Golden Legend is like an old ruin
with the ivy and the rich blue mould upon it ; and to me,
who live so much in the past, that is very charming.
The versification, too, is exceedingly happy, and brings
back to the ear the metres of old times, like the cliime of
distant bells. I cannot understand your having composed
such song at Cambridge. Had you been upon the sea-
shore when it was written, fancy might have brought the
sounds across the Atlantic.
I see you and I have formed somewhat the same notion
of the Devil. I drew a sketch of the same gentleman sev-
eral years ago in a sort of play-poem called ' Camaraka-
man.' If I can get a copy I will send it to you ; but I
doubt.
I am just now busy with preparations for building my
new house as soon as spring commences, — getting timber
out of swamps and stone out of mountains ; so that one
half of each day is passed either on the hill-side or in the
.853.] COllRESPONDENCE. 35
lepth of the dell. I have got a very lovely site, — a new
Durchase since I saw you, — ■ very nearly as good as your
)wn, though the pine- wood which mantles my hill is not
;o ancient as the poet's grove, nor so stately, either.^ I
yish you would build at length; it is really wrong to
eave so lovely a spot undwelt in. But I am inclined to
jelieve that you keep this idea of building as a pleasalit
sort of vision, which might be dissolved by any attempt
it realization. If so, dream on. Eut if you wake, and I
;an do anything to serve you in neglected Stockbridge,
pray command
Yours ever,
G. P. E. James.
From a a Felton.
Strasburg, July 8, 1853.
Dear Longfellow, — I arrived here this evening, and
lave just returned from a visit to the cathedral in the
twilight. I have seen nothing more wonderful, — an epic
Doem in stone ; the dim, mysterious form, the sober light
"aintly glimmering through the tracery of the spire, and
;he stars shining round its summit. . . . But I sat down
;o write you, not about a poem in stone, but about a poem
n flesh and blood, — Jasmin.^ I am very sorry you did
lot send him your poems by me ; I should have had the
pleasure of placing them directly in his hands. Appleton
^to whom I am indebted for other civilities) introduced
ne to the Baronne Blaze de Bury [in Paris], and she in-
i^ited me to a soiree in her apartment, where Jasmin was
^ Mr. Longfellow was possessor of an estate by the river, called
he Oxbow. His idea of building upon it was never carried out.
^ Jacques Jasmin, "the barber poet" of Agen. Mr. Longfellow
lad translated his poem, L'Abugh de CasUl CuilU, in 1849. He died
a 1864.
. 36 COERESPONDENCE. [1853.
to recite some of his pieces. T. and I went together ; and
as we were winding our way up an cinqidlme, I looked
down and saw a dark and sturdy figure, with a volume
under his arm, mounting after us. I knew it was Jasmin,
and sure enough it was Jasmin. The company was small,
hut the entertainment heyond description delightful. Jas-
min equals, and surpasses, all the descriptions given of
him. He is the troubadour of the nineteenth century,—
the Ionian rhapsodist revived. He gives me a perfect
idea of what Homer must have been. He draws together
enthusiastic multitudes of his countrymen in the South of
France, where all the genius of Eacliel cannot fill a theatre.
He is a wonderful nature, and no less wonderful as an
illustrator of ancient poetical tradition. His delivery of
his own compositions is not a piece of acting, it is the
reproduction of the thought, passion, and images by voice,
eye, gesture. He is possessed and overmastered by the.
spirit of the poem, — ^ his changing voice responsive to the
poetry as an JEolian harp to the breeze, now pouring out
the fulness of its tones, now trembling with tenderness
and pity. As he recites the pathetic passages, tears gush
from his eyes and his whole frame is agitated. When he
told the story of the young mason, in the Senaro d'un Fil,
even I, albeit unused to the melting mood, felt my eyes
fill and my nerves thrill ; and the emotion visible in the
heaving bosoms of the lovely women who sat in a circle
round the room was no artificial expression. We listened
till one o'clock, and could have listened all night. In the
intervals I had considerable conversation with him. He
is lively, frank, full of heart and feeling. The next morn-
ing Parker and I called at his lodgings. He was in his
shirt-sleeves, but was not in the least disturbed. We sat
down, and he entered at once into a free and hearty con-
versation. In a few minutes his wife came in, — a lively
and sparkling Gascon, as agreeable as her husband ; lastly
853]. CORRESPONDENCE. 37
heir only son joined the party. Jasmin said, " This young
ellow deals, not in poetry, but in champagne.'' I said
hat I thought champagne a very good kind of poetry;
ipon which he insisted upon bringing out a bottle, . . .
,s light and sparkling as a canzonet in the Provenqal.
Ve invited them all to breakfast with us on the following
lunday morning. . . . Jasmin and his wife are as devoted
0 each other, after a marriage of more than thirty years,
,s two young lovers. " My son," he said, " at the age of
hirty is still unmarried ; I married at nineteen, my wife
leing siKteen. That is the difference between Paris and
!igen. Ah ! this Paris life is a sad thing. He writes je
'ous aime, and rubs it out ; je vous aime again, and rubs
t out ; and again je vous aime, and rubs it out. / wrote
'e vous aime " — pointing across the table to Madame Jas-
nin with one hand and laying the other on his heart —
'here more than thirty years ago, and here it has re-
Qained, growing brighter and brighter every day since.
?here is the difference between us, and between Paris and
Igen." I have seen much of Jasmin since. We made a
Ittle party — not a party, but we asked half a dozen peo-
ile in — the other evening. Jasmin recited some of his
lest pieces with admirable effect. It is singular to see
he triumph of such a man in siich a city. On his table
ou see the cards of some of the noblest in the land, and
here is not a salon in Paris which is not proud to wel-
ome him. The Academy has crowned his third volume
f Papillotos with a prize of five thousand francs, has de-
reed that his language is a national language, and he a na-
ional poet ; and he was long since made a chevalier of the
region of Honor. With all the homage of the great and
he gay, Jasmin is unspoiled. Many people call him vain ;
lut his only vanity is an undisguised frankness in speak-
ag of himself and his works. His manner is totally un-
ffected, his tastes simple, his affections domestic. When
38 CORRESPONDENCE. [1853.
George Sand sought his acquaintance, lie refused to see
her, on account of her private life ; so of Eachel, the ac-
tress. For France this is most remarkable. I have prom-
ised to visit him at Agen on my return from Greece, and
dine under his vines, which he describes so charmingly in
one of his poems.
This reminds me of another poet whose pieces have
given me extraordinary pleasure, — Eeboul of NImes,
[whom] you have probably read ; if not, borrow the two
volumes and translate forthwith L'Ange et I'Unfant?- It
is singular that the two greatest, most original poets of
France should be, the one a barber, the other a baker ; for
Eeboul is known as "the Baker of Kimes." — The old
cathedral clock has just struck midnight; the city is silent
all about us, and I will say good-night. I am
Ever heartily yours,
C. C. Feltoit.
From A. H. Clovgh.
London [1853].
My deae Longfellow, — You are back in Cambridge
by this time, or rather will be by the time this touches
the western shore; so I send a few words of greeting
across. I confess I could far more pleasantly be under
the shadow of your balcony than in this dim darkness of
London mist — it is not quite fog at present. But what
is much worse, is that all friends and acquaintances are
away. Carlyle alone survives, biit in Chelsea, — as far
distant from me in Bedford Square as Dr. Howe in South
Boston is from you.
A dim presentiment, I think, must have led me quite
unwittingly to your door that last preceding afternoon
before my departure ; I certainly felt no particular reason
1 The translation will be found in Mr. Longfellow's works.
1853.] CORIIESPONDENCE. 39
for coming.^ My office here is called an Examinership
under the Committee of Privy Council for Education. I
am paid £300 a year, whicli rises gradually by £20 a
year to £600. I stay in there, up two pair, at the very
corner of Downing and Whitehall, from eleven to five
daily ; pretty well occupied all the time. I find it, how-
ever, as yet, rather agreeable work there, — chiefly, per-
haps, by way of contrast to past pedagogic occupations.
Of news, at present, political, literary, or anything else,
one hears nothing, because everybody is gone. Carlyle is
building himself a sound-proof room at the top of his
house, being much harassed by cocks and hens and hurdy-
gurdies. I think he is working pretty hard at Frederick
the Great. Tennyson is away in the North, — at Glasgow
when I last heard. In Tom Taylor's Life of Haydon
there are some pages about Keats that are of interest, I
lelieve. I was looking to-day in the British Institution
at [Hay don's] large picture of the "Judgment of Solomon,"
belonging, it seems, to Landseer. It is really rather fine.
Xingsley is going to publish a poem in hexameters, — on
Perseus and Andromeda, I think. But I have no faith
in his poetics. Disraeli, it is conjectured, being put aside
by the Tories, may not improbably join the Eadicals ! I
saw the Pulszkys the other day at the Horners' ; they
are now living at the bottom of Highgate HUl. You are
not to have them out with you at Cambridge at present, —
not, I suppose, at any rate, until it is quite certain that
the Czar will keep the peace.
Some wind, I think, stormy or otherwise, must yet
mean to blow me across the Atlantic again. I tell all the
people here that they have not seen anything of the world
so long as they have not crossed the seas.
1 Mr. Clougli had left Cambridge suddenly, on an unexpected re-
call to England.
40 CORRESPONDENCE. [1853.
From A. H. Clough.
London, September 9, 1853. /
London continues infinitely dull, and almost disagree- /
ably cool, — which, I confess, I myself prefer to the dread-/
ful heat reported of from your side. Do you hear anything
of Hawthorne ? I suppose he hides himself sedulously in
a corner of the consul's office in Liverpool, and will ve^y
likely return to America without coming up to London. ; I
heard indirectly of Emerson the other day, through Carl^le.
The sound-proof room is gradually " getting itself built"
I met C. M., your semi-compatriot, the other day. He
had just come back from Egypt, and is now gone off to be
minister at Berne. He seemed to me to be really more
an American than an Englishman; and though he had)
been reading Arabic and Persian during all his time at
Cairo, he had not Orientalized himself in the least. He
expressed, among other things, his opinion that the Eng-
lish were the most conceited nation in the world.
Have you studied, by the way, the new decoction o:
Christianity A la Tien-teh [in China], which really has
been the most interesting phenomenon to be heard of
lately ? The fragments of the Trimetrical Classic, whicl
appeared in some of the newspapers, were quite worthy
literary examination. Has the French account of Messr^.
Ivan and Caillery come over to you ? I only know it by
the abridgments one sees in Blackwood and the Times;
but I suppose it is the book to be relied upon.
Farewell. Will you remember me, if you please, to
Mrs. L., and tell the young people — ■who probably, how-
ever, have forgotten me some little time ago — that I
mean to come over and see them before they have quite
grown up ?
Believe me truly yours,
A. H. Clough.
1854.] CORRESPONDENCE. 41
To his brother S.
February 22, 1854.
Here is the autograph, which should have gone in F.'s
letter this morning, but was forgotten. We shall hope to
see you before long; but you must not feel obliged to
come on purpose for the christeniDg. We can wait your
convenience, or will try to, — though the baby is growing
heavier and heavier every hour !
We get this morning the outlines of Sumner's speech
on the Nebraska bill. I think it wiU prove a very power-
ful as well as eloquent speech. Have you seen it ?
You are not misinformed about my leaving the pro-
fessorship. I am "pawing to get free," and shall be
finally extricated at the close of this college year.
From Charles Sumner.
Senate Chamber, March 2, 1854.
My dearest Longfellow, — Your notes have come to
me full of cheer. I am weary and disheartened in front
of this great wickedness. My anxieties have been con-
stant. The speech is the least that I have done.^
I have occasion to be satisfied with the reception of my
speech. It has called forth responses from all who have
taken the floor since, and I am told that Southerners
praise it as a speech. . . . Mr. Blair, the famous editor
under Jackson, thanked me for it with gushing thanks,
and said it was the best speech made for twenty-five
years. Surely I should be content with this praise if,
indeed, I were able to find content in anything connected
^ The speech, called "The Landmark of Freedom,'' against the
Nebraska bill, which repealed the pledge by which slavery had in
1820 been solemnly and "forever prohibited" in the territory
north and west of Missouri.
42 CORRESPONDENCE. [1854,
with this enormity. I am glad to learn that I am not
disowned at home in my own Massachusetts. I believe
that I touched my colleague quite lightly enough.
Tell me of your doings and of your children. . . .
Yours evermore,
Chakles Sumnek.
To Charles Sumner.
April 20, 1854.
. . . Well, I have delivered my last lecture, and begin
to rise and right myself like a ship that throws out some
of its cargo. But I shall not have up my studding-sails
before the summer. would make a capital lecturer
for the College ; but there are six applicants, all friends
of mine, and so I cannot do anything for either of them.
The position is too delicate for me to move. Still, I have
a pretty clear idea of what would be best.
From Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Liverpool, August 30, 1854.
Dear Longfellow, — Our friend Henry Bright has
handed me some autographs for you.
Why don't you come over ? — being now a man of lei-
sure, and with nothing to keep you in America. If I
were in your position, I think that I should make my home
on this side of the water, — though always with an in-
definite and never-to-be-executed intention to go back and
die in my native land. America is a good land for young
people, but not for those who are past their prime. It
is impossible to grow old comfortably there, for nothing
keeps you in countenance. . . . Everythmg is so delight-
fully sluggish here ! It is so pleasant to find people hold-
ing on to old ideas, and hardly now beginning to dream
of matters that are already old with us. I have had
enough of progress. Now I want to stand stock still, or
1855.] CORRESPONDENCE. 43
rather to go back twenty years or so ; and that is what I
seem to have done in coming to England. Then, too, it is
so agreeable to find one's self relieved from the tyranny
of public opinion ; or, at any rate, under the jurisdiction
of quite a different public sentiment from what we have
left behind us. A man of individuality and refinement
can certainly live far more comfortably here — provided
he has the means to live at all — than in New England.
Be it owned, however, that I sometimes feel a tug at my
very heartstrings when I think of my old home and
friends.^ . . .
Believe me most sincerely yours,
KH.
From Charles Sumner.
Senate Chamber [Washington], February 6, 1855.
The poem is full of beauty; but I still think it too
mystical and indefinite.^ Some of the verses are exqui-
site. More than once I have charmed a fair hearer while
I recited them. Lowell's lecture on Milton lifted me for
a whole day. It was the utterance of genius in honor of
genius. I am glad that he is to be your successor ; but I
trust that his free thoughts will not be constrained by
academic life. Let him continue himself.
It is pleasant to know that you have thought of me,
and especially amid the delights of that music.^ I envy
you those evenings. Yesterday I met your brother A.,
who is here for a few days.
Ever and ever yours,
C. S.
^ Mr. Hawthorne returned to America in 1860. It must be re-
membered that this letter speaks of England thirty years ago.
^ The double poem ' Prometheus and Epimetheus ' was printed in
Putnam's Magazine for Eebruaiy, 1855.
' Grisi and Mario had been singing in Opera in Boston.
44 COERESPONDENCE. [1855.
To J. T. Fields.
March 21, 1855.
My wife commissions me to thank the noble house of
Ticknor and Fields for the very beautiful volume sent her
yesterday. I perform the task with great alacrity. A
more acceptable present you could not have selected. A
thousand times, thanks !
Yesterday also came from Eoutledge a single copy of
the engraving of my portrait by Lawrence. It is very
beautifully executed, and I think you will like it, — though
there is a little " hay in the hair." I will bring it in on
Saturday, — or if you can come out to-morrow forenoon
you shall see it, and also the ' Song of Hiawatha,' which
I finished to-day at noon. Of course the bells rang !
To Mrs. Marshall.
April 10, 1855.
... I have always a charming picture of you before
my mind as a young wife busy with your household, or
looking up from your book at the sound of an opening
door and a well-known footstep, or putting on your shawl
and walking over to your mother when some grand prob-
lem, difficult of solution, presents itself in the " celestial
mechanics " of housekeeping.
Then I think of Schiller's beautiful description of the
wife in his 'Song of the Bell,' and how the German
women beautify and dignify their household cares, and
how the American women do not, — which is a great pity
and a great mistake ; for life is very much what we make
it, and if we call duty by the name of drudgery we degrade
it. Is it not so ? Or are you on the other side, taking
part with our rebel American angels ?
-iu..., 1'^"'. .Jo^y-c^^cd^^
1855.] COEEJESPONDENCE. 45
From H. B. Schoolcraft.
Washington, December 19, 1855.
Dear Sir, — I have received the copy of ' Hiawatha '
with which you have favored me, and have read the poem
with equal avidity and high gratification. Its appearance
from the American press constitutes, in my opinion, a
period in our imaginative literature which cannot but be
regarded as a progressive feature. From the days of ' Atala'
and ' Yamoyden ' to Mr. Street's poem of Iroquois life, of
which I have only seen extracts, it has been an open
question how far the Indian character and mythology is
material for poetry. But notwithstanding much clever-
ness and some successful passages in each attempt, the
general failure of popular attractiveness may be sufficient
to convince us that there are some insuperable difficulties.
One of the great faults of authors, it appears to me, has
been treating the Indian as a stoic through every scene,
thus disconnecting him from human sympathies. We
may admire fortitude, wisdom, and eloquence, but we can
only love, or be deeply interested in, the bosom ■ that has
kind affections, whether the expression be simple and rude,
or highly refined.
The Indian must be treated as he is. He is a warrior
in war, a savage in revenge, a stoic in endurance, a wol-
verine in suppleness and cunning. But he is also a father
at the head of his lodge, a patriot in his love of his coun-
try, a devotee to noble sports in his adherence to the chase,
a humanitarian in his kindness, and an object of noble
grief at the grave of his friends or kindred. He is as
simple as a child, yet with the dignity of a man in his
wigwam. There has been no attempt, my dear sir, before
' Hiawatha ' to show this. To avoid the direct issue with
Indian character, it has been aimed to excite interest by
taking the hero or heroine from the half-breed class. The
46 COREESPONDENCE. [1855.
result has been that we have had a half-breed class of
poetry. It is not to be asserted that success cannot be
attained in this line, only it has not yet been demon-
strated. It cannot be supposed that Eoderick Dhu, a
Highlander, could, in the hands of Sir Walter Scott, have
been made more attractive by taking from him the strong
marks of full-blooded clanship. If the Indian is ever to
be made the material of popular poetry, it must be the
full, free, wild Indian, — the independent rover of the for-
ests and prairies, who loves the chase, loves liberty, and
hates labor and the white man, under the impression that
the latter symbolizes the advent of his curse and downfall.
There are among the Indians persons who are called on
at burials to recite the praises of the dead.. These men
generally cut the hieroglyphics on their wooden grave-
posts. Others are skilled in songs, which are often of a
religious, mystic, or elegiac cast ; or are noted as persons
who recite legends and stories. I have frequently had
these persons at my house during the long winter nights
in the North, where the introduction of a good meal has
put them in the best humor possible for whUing away the
time in relating their lore. To assemble these on grand
occasions, with their rude instruments of music, appears
to me the most eligible mode of procuring a correct ^■iid
pleasing delineation of the picturesque and social scenes
and beliefs of aboriginal life. For Hiawatha to collect
together this poetic force on the occasion of his wedding,
was certainly a most felicitous and eligible method of
celebrating his nuptials. To my taste, the thoughts of
this poem are highly poetical, and the rhythm most har-
monious ; and I am free to say that by exhibiting these
fresh tableaux of Indian life you have laid the reading
world under great obligations.
Yours with regard,
Henky Kowe Schoolcraft.
1856.] CORRESPOWDJiJNCJ-JB. 47
From Ferdinand Freiligrath.
March 7, 1856.
I was truly pleased to learn that my translating ' Hia-
watha ' gives you some satisfaction, and that you approved,
too, of my letter about the metre, in the Athenseum.
This letter, it appears, has really ended the controversy, —
at least none of the controversialists whom it tried to
pacify has come forward against it. For this reason I did
not deem it fit to take up the subject once more, and to give
to the public the interesting details about Indian parallel-
ism which I found in your first letter ; but I shall, of
course, make use of them in the preface of my translation.
The portraits (which you had even the great attention
to have framed and glazed) are excellent, — each in its
kind ; but I prefer Bogue's. There is more of the good,
earnest, straightforward, and honest expression of your
face in it than in Eoutledge's. The latter is now in my
wife's room ; Bogue's I have kept for my study. And the
children, who admire both prints, know very well that
they represent but one man, — a poet-friend of their
father, far away beyond the sea ; and very often, when
at play under one of the portraits, they may be overheard,
how the theme of their childish prattle is
" — the gentle Chibiabos,
He the best of all musicians,
He the sweetest of all singers."
Always thine,
F. Peeiligeath.
From Charles Sumner.
Cape Mat, July 18, 1856.
Mt deae Longfellow, — The waves which have
charmed me this morning have come, perhaps, from wash-
ing the rocks at the foot of your cottage. This is to me
48 CORKESPONDENCB. [1856.
a pleasant thought. Slowly comes strength at last. My
physician says I cannot expect to be well enough for duty
before September ; but I am trying to anticipate his de-
cree, so as to be in the Senate during this session. From
here I go in a few days to mountain air ; but my address
will be to the care of Eev. W. H. Furness, of Philadelphia,
who has been my good Samaritan. It is in his brother's
cottage that I am sheltered now, with his two children
and his gentle wife. For weeks I have not touched a pen,
or you should have heard from me ; and F. too, whose
letter cheered me much.
Ever thine,
C. S.
From T. G. Appleton.
[London, 1856.]
. . . Imagine what zeal, patience, boldness, and love of Na-
ture are in these [pre-Eaphaelite] pictures ; and with these
the Anglo-Saxon awkwardness, crudity, and poor senti-
ment. Still, after seeing the Vernon collection, one can't
but think better and better of the direction of the new
school. One thing I find not stated of it, — how much it
owes to the daguerrotype. The fine, minute finish, and
the breadth at the same time they give; and absolutely
they manage to have the same defects, — edginess and want
of roundness. I met the Brownings at the Gallery yester-
day, and put them on the way to see Hilary Curtis' s
picture, which I hunted up. The Brownings are a happy
couple, — happy in their affection and their genius. He
is a fine, fresh, open nature, full of life and spring, and
evidently has little of the dreamy element of Wordsworth
and others. She is a little concentrated nightingale, liv-
ing in a bower of curls, her heart throbbing against the
bars of the world. I called on them, and she looked at
me wistfully, as she believes in the Spirits and had heard
1856.] CORUESPONDENCE. 49
of me. Lady Byron, too, has sent for me to talk about it ;
but I do not know that I shall find time to go. Lowell
has turned up, and after dining with the Storys and my-
self at a grand dinner at Sturgis's the day before, they
spent the day with me and dined, and to-night I am to
join them at Windsor. I hear of dear old T. Kensett and
Taylor, but have not got at them. Hazard is . on the
horizon. I wonder if he will walk the coast, as he pro-
posed. Ticknor looks wonderfully natural in the Twistle-
ton house. It has a library, the historic background for
him, and the Dwight AUston, looking well. He invited,
the other day, Mackintosh and myself to meet Thackeray.
It was very pleasant. Thackeray seemed to remember
the Yankee sunshine, and expanded, and looked well,
though but lately recovering from an illness. He pro-
posed going to Evans's after the dinner ; ^ so Mackintosh
drove us down. The proprietor made great ado and
honor. The same scene Hawthorne described to you
was enacted. We had a seat of honor at the head of
the table, and nice copies of the songs were given us.
Much mention was made of you, and the earnest request
that you would favor by a visit when you come to Eng-
land. It was fun. The head was a character worthy of
Dickens. In the midst of beefsteaks and tobacco he
dUated on the charms of early editions, and showed us
some. Deprecating the character of the music, he nudged
me and said that, like myself, he should prefer Beethoven
and Mozart, but if he gave them he should starve. The
singing was chiefly comic, and not bad ; but one French
piece, by some sixteen juveniles, had a lovely boy with a
lovely voice piping clear, sweet, and high, like a lark.
Thackeray was in raptures with that boy. Thackeray
called on me, and I must try to find him. He lives in a
1 Evans's snpper-rooms ; see Hawthorne's letter in Life of Long-
fellow, ii. 276.
4
50 COREESPONDBNCE. [1857.
very pretty square not far from Ticknor's. Mackintosh
and I have driven down to Chelsea; missed Carlyle.
There is a good, fierce picture of him in the Exhibition.
I very much wish you were here. I am for the Conti-
nent, and want a party. Had a long talk with J. P. K.
on politics; Southern view; gave him a Northern one;
delighted probably with each other. We now hear that
Sumner is worse. Truly I hope that it is not so. There
is heat enough in the contest already, without any more
disaster in that direction. If he should die, Achilles
would rage in the Trojan trenches.
Love to dearest F., and say how much we all wish you
were here, and what a bumper you would have.
From, Cliarles Sumner.
Paris, Hotel de la Paix, Rue de la Paix,
August 18, 1857.
My dear Longfellow, — Tour letter of 28th came to
me to-day, and I read it in the spray of the plashing
waters of the fountains in the Place de la Concorde, and
enjoyed its refreshment. Here I am reminded constantly
of T., who was so kind and hospitable to me on my ar-
rival. Give him my regards, and tell him that I have
found no companion for the Bois.
I am just from the Chflteau de Tocqueville, in a distant
corner of France, fifteen miles from Cherbourg. I reached
there by way of Jersey, where I passed a day. Victor
Hugo has been banished to Guernsey, — or rather has been
obliged to leave the first island, and has taken refuge in
the latter.
The chateau is some four centuries old. The staircase
of heavy granite, by which I reached my chamber, was
built before Christopher Columbus sailed on his first
voyage. It is so broad and capable that an ancestor of
1857.] CORRESPONDENCE. 51
my host amused himself by ascending it on horseback.
There are two round towers, such as you see in pictures,
with walls six feet thick.
Tocqueville and his wife inquired much about you, and
requested me to give them an opportunity of knowing you
when you come abroad. Eappelez-vous Men cela, said he
a second time. I read to them your piece on Agassiz, —
which they enjoyed very much, — and gave to Madame de
T. the copy you had sent me. A young English girl, who
came to the chateau for a day, was so enthusiastic that
she sat down at once and copied it.
From Cherbourg I came to Bayeux, Caen, and Paris.
The last is more splendid than ever. To-morrow I start
for Eheims, to see its historic cathedral ; then to Strasburg,
Baden-Baden, Switzerland. Do let me hear from you
again soon, so that I may have your welcome on my
return to England.
It is now evening. I have had my last dinner in Paris.
It was at the Caf^ Eiche, on the Boulevards. I enclose
the addition.
How are the children ? Love to all.
Ever affectionately yours,
C. S.
From Charles Sumner.
Inveeary Castle, October 22, 1857.
Mt dear Longfellow, — Your name is so constantly
in everybody's mouth here, with such expressions of inter-
est, admiration, and gratitude, that I cannot forbear, telling
you of it again, though little encouraged by letters from
you. My visit to Scotland has been most hurried, but I
have been over great spaces and seen many interesting
people. At Dunrobin Castle,^ far to the North, was a
1 The Beat of the Duke of Sutherland.
52 COREESPONDENCE. [1857.
luxury difficult to describe; and there your name is a
household word. Driving with the Duchess in an open
carriage with four horses, with two postilions and an out-
rider, I read at her request several of your poems and
parts of ' Evangeline,' aU of which she admired and en-
joyed almost to tears. From Dunrobin I went to Haddo
House, the seat of the Earl of Aberdeen, the late Prime
Minister. All the members of his family were famihar
with you, and even the venerable Earl enjoyed ' The Eainy
Day.' One of his sons mentioned that a cabman on the
estate inquired for a poem, written he did not know by
whom, that said something about " footprints on the sand
of time."
Next I went to what Walter Scott calls "the lofty
brow of ancient Keir," the curious and most interesting
seat of Stirling, whose books you have.^ Among the.
guests there was Mrs. Norton, as beautiful as ever, donna
sublime. In the course of a long day with her your name
was mentioned, and then for a long time nothing else.
She has read ' Evangeline ' some twenty times, and thinks
it the most perfect poem in the language. Stirling has
read it to her aloud. The scene on the Lake Atchafalaya,
where the two lovers pass each other, she considered so
typical of life and so suggestive that she had a seal cut
with that name upon it. Shortly afterward the King of
the Belgians, Leopold, visiting her, spoke of ' Evangeliue,'
and asked her if she did not think that the word Atclia-
falaya was suggestive of experiences m life, and added
that he was about to have it cut on a seal. To his aston-
ishment she then showed him hers. She has often been
on the point of vsriting to you, but checked herself by
saying, " What will he care for me ? " I have promised
» WiUiam Stilling, afterwards Sir William Stirling Maxwell,
author of Annals of the Spanish Painters, Cloister Life of Charles
v., and other works. He died in 1878.
1857.] CORKESPONDENCB. 53
her some of your verses in your own handwriting, as an
autograph. You will not dishonor my draft.
Stirling's house is full of the choicest articles of virtil.
I do not doubt that it contains more of such things than
can he found in all the houses of our country ; while iu
beautiful terraces belonging to it, the Isola Bella is its in-
ferior. His cattle take the great premiums. Among them
is a famous bull named Hiawatha, and a cow named
Minnehaha. From Keir I came by posting and row-boat
across the country to this ancient seat of the Argylls.
Look at Boswell's Journal of his Tour with Johnson if
you would have a glimpse at this castle. In the morning
a piper plays the bagpipe under the windows and ia the
spacious hall; and so at the evening for the convert. Here
your poems are on the table ; both she and the Duke are
familiar with them, and express the strongest interest in
you. Tennyson, with his wife and two children, has just
passed nine days with him ; and they wish much that you
would come with your wife and children. But at all
these places your welcome would be boundless. Tenny-
son has now gone back to the Isle of Wight, and I have
not seen him.
My plans are to be with you very soon. But now
comes my perplexity. My general health is very good ;
but I have not yet exterminated all of my debUity, and
eminent medical authorities warn me against returning
home until this is done. Is not this hard? Seventeen
months have now passed since my first suffering, and still
condemned to inaction ! To return with such a peril is
not pleasant ; but I shall return. My public duties shall
be performed.
Ever and ever yours,
C. S.
54 COREESPONDENCE. [1859.
To Charles Sumner (in Europe).
January 20, 1859.
Your letter to E., for which he thanks you very much,
informs us of your whereabouts. Do not leave the South
of France without visiting Aigues-Mortes,i
" La cit^ poitrinaire
Qui meurt comme vin hibou dans le creux de son nid,"
as sings Jean Eeboul, the baker-poet of Nimes. I would
also hunt him up, as well as Jasmin at Agen. Here are
two poetic pilgrimages for you to make, which I think
would be very interesting. Yesterday Agassiz brought
me a letter from a friend of his in Montpellier who men-
tions seeing you daily ; says you are attending a course of
lectures on Eousseau, and adds, " sa sant^ s'am^liore."
The "old guard" have just been celebrating Daniel
Webster's birthday with a dinner. It was presided over
by Caleb Gushing, who made a speech containing all Lem-
pri^re's Classical Dictionary and part of Adams's Latin
Grammar. I send you Felton's remarks. The whole
affair reminds me of Iriarte's fable of the Bee and the
Drones, — how they got the dead body of a bee out of an
old hive with great praise and pomp, performing
" Unas grandes exequias funerales
Y susurrando elogios immortales."
Only think of the Old Whigs hobnobbing with Cushing
and Hallet and the rest [of the Democratic leaders] 1
Fletcher Webster made a speech, pointed to the motto on
the wall, "Union now and forever," and said that was
" all his father had left him." This recalls Gil Bias, and
his parting from his father and mother : " lis me firent
* Aigues-Mortes lies between NIraes and Montpellier, and "is of
interest as a perfect example of a feudal fortress of the thirteenth
century," says Murray.
1859.] CORRESPONDENCE. 55
present de leiir bdn^diction, qui ^tait le seul bien que
j'attendais d'eux." — You will have learned already the
recall of Lord Napier. Motley is, I see, getting great
renown in Belgium for his History.
Whither do you go from Montpellier ? Would I were
with you ! How it would air my whole soul to be in the
South of France for a month or two ! I wonder if I shall
ever be there. It seems to grow more and more difficult
for me to pull up my anchors.^ Hoping to see you one
day Minister at London, and to dine with you there, and
with much love from all under this roof,
Ever thine-
From Charles Sumner.
Montpellier, France, January 24, 1859.
My dear Longfellow, — Daily have I been about to
write, but delayed in the hope of announcing an end to
my pains. Even now I cannot do this ; but I shall surely
be well again, perhaps very soon. Nothing can surpass
the tranquillity of my life here. After the morning tor-
ment I read, then walk, visit the most excellent library,
and attend the lectures on literature. The course of
[Edn^] Taillandier on French Literature in the Eighteenth
Century is most charming. You will know something of
him as the German critic in the Revue des Deux Mondes.
As a lecturer he is most successful. Each lecture is a
finished oration, delivered with great effect, and holding
his nearly four hundred hearers in closest attention. Will
you believe it ? — his programme is first sent to Paris and
submitted to the approval of the Government, who at their
discretion modify his course. The two lectures he had
prepared, in this course, on the Confessions of Jean-
' Mr. Longfellow did not visit France till nine years later.
56 CORUESPONDENCB. [1859.
Jacques were crossed out of his programme. This shows
you the extent to which everything centres in Paris, — the
lectures of a professor in Montpellier are controlled by
that central power ! I attend also M. Maudot on Spanish
Literature. Another course on Eoman History, by M.
Germain, has interested me.
There is here the best gallery of pictures in France, out
of Paris, with the handsomest Greuze I have ever seen,
an exquisite Salvator, and beautiful productions of Pous-
sin, Cuyp, Teniers, etc. Forming part of the same estab-
lishment is the library, which is to me a great resource.
It contains about thirty thousand volumes ; but of these
six thousand were the library of Alfieri, and with them
are the manuscripts, letters, papers, and other valuables
of the great Italian poet. My early interest in him has
been revived, and I have enjoyed much the handling of
these relics. . . . Among the books is a copy of Marshall's
Life of Washington in five volumes, in an elaborate bind-
ing, easily recognized as American, although the best that
Boston could then turn out, with this inscription on the
fly-leaf: —
" To Louisa de Stolberg, Countess of Albany, this Life of
Washington is presented in gratitude for her admiration of
his character, and as a testimony of affection and respect
from her transatlantic friend, M. C. Derby.
" Boston, North America, 26 November, 1816."
Here also are letters addressed to the Countess, and among
them one of six pages from Mrs. Derby, describing a jour-
ney by herself and husband from Boston to Charleston.
New York is called the London, and Philadelphia the
Paris, of America. The latter town is said to contain une
Banque et une Academic de peiixture. The letter, which is
in French, concludes by introducing Mr. Stuart Newton,
the artist, and expressing a wish that the writer could
dance once more at the house of the Countess.
1859.] CORKESPONDENCE. 57
My only evening indulgence here is with the SociStS de
vendredi, composed of some fifteen or twenty persons, —
two or three professors, propriStaires, professional men,
and bankers, — founded originally in 1811 by De Can-
dolle, the famous botanist. It meets every Friday even-
ing about nine o'clock, alternating at the houses of the
members. By a sumptuary law the entertainment is
limited to tea and four small plates of confectionery,
always supplied from the same shop. On the centre-table
are such recent publications as happen to be in the house
of meeting. The conversation is various, touching on
literature, art, and even present politics. Almost all the
members are ardent against the Emperor [Napoleon III.].
One or two evenings much has been said on slavery, which
I assure you excites a most outspoken horror. They are
so simple that they do not understand how anybody can
defend it.
One of my best friends here is Professor [Charles] Mar-
tins, the head of the Jardin des Plantes, an old companion
of Agassiz on the glaciers. We talk of Agassiz constantly.
He thinks him right not to renounce America.^ Taillandier
said to me the other day, " M. Longfellow doit avoir une
grande bibliothfeque." " Assez grande," I replied ; " mais
surtout belle." Directly under me at the hotel is M. Cho-
quet, who has been musical critic for several years in
New York in the Courrier des iJtats- Unis. He is preparing
a little volume of translations of American poems.
1 Agassiz had received, and declined, an offer from the French
Government of the Chair of Palaeontology in the Museum of Natural
History at Paris. To his friend M. Martins he wrote : " The work I
have undertaken here, and the confidence shown in me, . . . make
my return to Europe impossible for the present. . . . Were I offered
absolute power for the reorganization of the Jardin des Plantes, with
a revenue of fifty thousand francs, I would not accept it. I Kke my
independence better."
58 COREESPONDENCE. [1859.
On my way here I stopped at Macon, in order to visit
the chateaux of Lamartine. There are three, but I in-
spected only two. On the table in his study were the two
folios of Petrarca's Latin writings, and near by the small
volumes of Aventures de Bdbinson. Enthusiastic damsels
had inscribed their names, with verses from his poems, on
the unused paper upon the table. ... I counted twenty
peacocks in the grounds, making a most magnificent dis-
play of plumage. If you see Mr. Thies ^ tell him that I
have met here the most scientific writer upon engravings
of all who have ever written. With him I talk art.
Ever and ever yours,
C. S.
From Charles Sumner.
MoNTPBLLiER, January 25, 1859.
. . . My love of books is a great resource ; but I cannot
conceal from you how often I am cut to the heart as I
think of my present [enforced] estrangement from that
cause which is to me more than life. I cannot help it,
the tears will come. Often I think of rushing home and
dashing upon the scene again, without regard to personal
consequences ; and then I am arrested by the conviction
that yet a little longer delay, and I shall be well again.
How small our politicians seem as I regard them from
this distance, and how grand the cause which I hope to
serve ! Do you remember a little piece' of La Monnoye,
entitled Le Maitre et les Esclaves ? You will find it in an
old collection entitled Bibliotheque Poetique, iv. 78, where
it is said, " cette naiv^t^ est tir^e du grec d' Hi^rocles."
Pray translate it.
1 Mr. Louis Thies, curator of the Gray CoUectioa of Engravings
at Harvard College.
1859.] CORRESPONDENCE. 59
While in the midst of this last paragraph I was inter-
rupted by a visit from M. Taillandier, who has sat with
me a long time, talking literature de la vianih'e la plus
charmante. He recited to me several poems of Barbier,
written in 1831, which he thinks the most remarkable
French poetry of this century. He does not seem to be
an admirer of Jasmin. By the way, the barber who cut
my hair talked much of the " barber-poet." He described
to me a dinner given some time ago by the coiffeurs and
perruquiers of Montpellier to their brother of Agen. In
passing the Ecole de M^decine recently, I observed the
following notice posted at the door : " MM. les el^ves sent
prevenus que demain trois cadavres seront distribuds."
Every day in going to the Library I pass another notice,
twice repeated, at the door of a church : " Par respect pour
le bienseance il est expressement recommande aux fideles
de cracher dans leur mouchoir." Such a notice at the
door of our Senate would be charming !
Europe is now much agitated by what is called the
"Lombard question," and everybody asks if there will be
war, or peace. The impression is becoming general that
Austria has no right to occupy Lombardy. Of course she
has not. Her position is so unnatural that it cannot exist
long. It is sustained now only by means of enormous
military forces, which convert the whole country into a
fortified camp. At Verona, where I was absorbed by the
thought of Dante and Cacciaguida and princely Can
Grande, I was aroused to hate the Austrian oppres-
sion. If there is an effort to throw it off, send it your
benediction.^
Ever and ever yours,
C. S.
> It will be remembered that the battles of Magenta and Solferino,
in June of this same year, freed Lombardy from the Austrian yoke
and united it to the Italian kingdom.
60 CORRESPONDENCE. [1859.
To Charles Svmner.
January 30, 1859.
It is Sunday afternoon. You know, then, how the old
house looks, — the shadow in the library, and the sunshine
in the study, where I stand at my desk and write you
this. Two little girls are playing about the room, — A.
counting with great noise the brass handles on my sec-
retary, " nine, eight, five, one," and E. insisting upon hav-
ing some paper box, long promised but never found, and
informing me that I am not a man of my word !
And I stand here at my desk by the window, thinking
of you, and hoping you will open some other letter from
Boston before you do mine, so that I may not be the first to
break to you the sad news of Prescott's death. Yes, he is
dead, — from a stroke of paralysis, on Friday last at two
o'clock. Up to half past twelve he was well, and occupied
as usual ; at two he was dead. We shall see that cheerful,
sunny face no more ! Ah me ! what a loss this is to us
all, and how much sunshine it will take out of the social
life of Boston !
I sent you by the last steamer the proceedings, speeches,
etc., of the Burns dinner [in Boston]. I was not there,
but I hear that made a regular fiasco, — persisting
in reading a speech forty minutes long ; the audience
noisy and impatient, and sending him strips of paper with
the words, " Stop, stop ! for Heaven's sake stop ! " and he
plunging on, with his speech before him, in type for the
next day's Courier. Emerson's speech is charming; do
you not think so?
Lord Kadstock is here, — an Irish peer, with his lady,
whom all delight in.
1859.] CORRESPONDENCE. 61
To Charles Sumner.
February 13, 1859.
Aigues-Mortes! Decidedly you will go to Aigues-
Mortes, and see in imagination the sailing of St. Louis
for the Holy Land. Where have I read about it, and
why does it make such a picture in my mind ?
Lowell has lately written in the Atlantic a couple of
very clever articles on Shakespeare. Here is a recondite
joke from one of the pages : " To every commentator who
has wantonly tampered with the text, or obscured it with
his inky cloud of paraphrase, we feel inclined to apply
the quadrisyllable name of the brother of Agis, king of
Sparta." Felton was the first to find out the joke, and to
remember, or discover, that this name was Uudamidas !
The Atlantic flourishes. Holmes is in full blast at his
" Breakfast-table." Charles Norton has lately contributed
two good articles on Dante's Vita Niwva, with analysis and
numerous translated passages. I wrote you on the 20th
January, and again on the 30th, and sent you papers, one
with Emerson's speech at the Bums dinner, and one
with notices of [W. H.] Prescott. His death is greatly
deplored ; a very sincere grief. Hallam, too, is dead, — a
week before Prescott. Theodore Parker and his wife have
gone to Cuba for his health, his lungs being affected ; and
Dr. Howe and his wife have gone with them.
Altogether it has been a very gloomy winter, rainy and
wretched in an unusual degree. I wish we were all at
Montpellier with you. What do you mean by your
" morning torment " ? You are not undergoing the fire
again, are you ? Heaven forbid !
February 21.
I hoped to write you a long letter; but the inevi-
table interruptions of our daily life have thrown me out.
62 CORRESPONDENCE. [1859.
To-morrow Lowell's friends give him a birthday dinner,
he having reached la quarantaine, — the grand Lent of
life! And next Saturday — no, next Sunday — is my
fifty-second birthday. So slide the glasses in the great
magic-lantern !
Love from us all.
From Charles Sumner.
MoNTPBLLiER, March 4, 1859.
Deae Longfellow, — Yes, it was your letter which
first told me of Prescott's death. The next day I read it
in the Paris papers. Taillandier announced it at the
opening of his lecture. The current of grief and praise is
everywhere unbroken. Perhaps no man, so much in peo-
ple's mouths, was ever the subject of so little unkindness.
How different his fate from that of others ! Something of
that immunity which he enjoyed in life must be referred
to his beautiful nature, in which enmity could not live.
This death touches me much. You remember that my
relations with him had for years been of peculiar inti-
macy. Every return to Boston has been consecrated by
an evening with him. I am sad to think of my own
personal loss.
" Mon cher ami, le canon perce nos lignes et les rangs
se serrent de moment en moment; cela est effrayant.
Aimons-nous jusqu'au dernier jour ; et que celui qui sur-
vivra a I'autre aime encore et chdrie sa mdmoire. Quel
asile plus respectable et plus doux peut-elle avoir que la
cceur d'un ami ? "
There is a charm taken from Boston. Its east winds
whistle more coldly round Park Street corner. They be-
gin to tingle with their natural, unsubdued wantonness.
My episode here will soon close. If I do not regain my
health, it will not be from lack of effort. For three
1859.] CORRESPONDENCE. 63
months I have followed my treatment with daily, un-
flinching fidelity, and have led the most retired and tran-
quil life. Lying on my back, books have been my great
solace. I have read furiously, — like the old Bishop of
Avranches, _/?o.s episcoporum ; or Felton; or the Abbd Mo-
rellet in the Bastile ; or Scaliger. . . .
Weeks before your letter I had visited Aigues-Mortes.
If this were on the Ehine, it would be ruined, and talked
about ; but it is away from all lines of travel. The old
walls and the marvellous Tower of Constancy are in beauti-
ful preservation. The baker-poet [Eeboul] does not stand
as well as Jasmin. The latter was a few days ago in Lyons,
then in Paris. The beautiful library here I have com-
pletely ransacked. With a pass-key to the shelves, I have
ranged about as I chose. The weather all this winter has
been charming, — a perpetual spring. To-day I sat with
M. Martins, Agassiz's friend, in the open air in the shade
of his garden. But there is an end of all things ; to-
morrow I start for Nice. God bless you !
Ever affectionately yours,
C. S.
To Charles Sumner.
April 26, 1859.
So you have passed along the Cornice and the Eiviera,
and are in Genoa. I only wish you were stronger, so as
to have no drawback to your enjoyment. Now let me
tell you aboat matters here. The Howes have not yet
returned from the Island of Cuba ; but Dana has, and has
written a book, — To Cuba and Back. It is not yet pub-
lished, but will appear incessament Palfrey is well ; has
just got a letter from you. His History [of New England]
is very successful, and he is at work on the second vol-
ume. To-day is a dark, dreary day. I stand here at my
desk in the study, pointing the tip of my pen toward you
64 CORRESPONDENCE. [1859.
and Italy. You say to me, as King Olaf said to his scald,
" Write me a song with a sword in every line." But how
write war-songs, if there is to be no war? And how
would it all rhyme with ' The Arsenal at Springfield ' and
your discourse on the brass cannon ? which the astounded
keeper has not yet forgotten, I dare say.^
What you quote about the 2>^re de famille is pretty
true. It is a difficult role to play; particularly when, as
in my case, it is united with that of oncle d'Amerique and
general superintendent of all the dilapidated and tumble-
down foreigners who pass this way !
The whole air is tainted with the case of . The
trial is, if possible, a greater scandal than the murder.
All that is bad in the profession of the law, or rather in
the practice of the law, is in full development, — bicker-
ings, recriminations, and all the rest of it. Only the two
prosecuting lawyers preserve anything like dignity or
decency. You know how the had Americans do things.
Suffice it to say this tragedy is becoming a farce through
their management.
1 See Life, ii. 2.
CHAPTER IV.
CORRESPONDENCK
1860-1865.
To Charles Sumner.
January 31, 1860.
My dear Sumnee, — January shall not die, though he
is at his last gasp, without leaving you something in his
will; namely, a letter from me. It will not make you
very rich, hut it will ease his conscience, and mine ; and
you will not feel hurt at being cut off with a shilling.
I return with all care Mrs. Tennyson's note ; and send
you multitudinous warnings from my wife and myself
to take better care of your Milton autograph, or, by the
Forty Thieves, some fine morning you will find it missing.
It will be stolen from under you, as Sancho Panza's ass
was by Gines de Pasamonte, and you will be left sitting
on the covers.^
We miss you very much, and condole with you on
Macaulay's death, — and Mrs. Pollen's also, a faithful soul
departed, and a loss to us all.
* This autograph of Milton, written during Ms visit abroad in
the album of an Italian gentleman, may now be seen at the Harvard
College Library. It is in these words : —
" if vertue feeble were,
Heaven it selfe •would stoope to her.
Ccelnm non animum muto dum trans mare curro.
JOAITNES MlLTONIUS, Anglus."
5
66 CORRESPONDENCE. [1860.
George Curtis has beeu here with a stirring lecture.
Both Hillard and Ticknor have spoken of Macaulay before
the Historical Society, but I did not hear them.
To Charles Sumner}
May 1, 1860.
" Eldorado " in the Dakotah tongue would be Mazaskasi-
Tnaka,— -as musical as Massachusetts, and not to be
thought of for a moment. Decidedly that will not do. Let
us try again. Omaha, Ottawa, names of tribes, both good.
Either would do very well, but neither is characteristic.
Up to the present date I find nothing better than MazdsJca,
which means, in English, " money," — the mighty dollar,
even ! and is the first part of Mazaskasimaka. Unfortu-
nately the true Indian accent is on the first syllable. I
have transposed it for ease of parlance.
May 3.
Too late ! I see by last evening's paper that the Ter-
ritory is already called Idaho, — said to mean "Gem of
the Mountains." It certainly does not in Dakotah, or
what is the use of having a Dakotah dictionary ?
To Charles Sumner.
May 8, 1860.
I should doubtless write you often, if events often oc-
curred in this silent land which I thought might have an
interest for you. But only look at our events ! They are
like those of the Vicar of Wakefield's life, — migrations
from the blue bed to the brown !
Here is one of more than usual intensity. A gentle-
1 Mr. Sumner had apparently written to his friend, asking him to
propose a name for the new Territory about to be established, and
suggesting an Indian equivalent to Eldorado.
I860.] COREESPONDENCE. 67
man in Europe sends me a translation of ' Excelsior ' in
German by Hunold, of Innsbruck, and writes : —
" On the day his translation appeared in the Boten fur Tirol, the
students of Innsbrtiok, meeting him in the street, rushed toward
him, embraced him, and kissed him with such joy and transport that
he looks upon that moment as the brightest and happiest of his
life!"
Have you read Hawthorne's new book ? ^
To Charles Sumner.
June 27, 1860.
I hoped to see you before going to Nahant ; but that
hope must be given up, as we go in a day or two, and you
will hardly be here before the Fourth.
Enclosed, I return Mr. S 's letter, with regrets that
I cannot comply with the request made in it. I do not
know Dean personally, nor even by letter ; and if I
should introduce Mr. to him, the Dean might well
turn round and say : " Pray, sir, and who introduces you V
— which would be awkward.
I want very much to see you. Come to Nahant as
soon as you can, by the morning boat, — a cool sail and a
warm welcome.
To Charles Sumner.
December 12, 1860.
Thanks for your letter of four lines, one of which I
could not read! Thanks for the four volumes of The
Globe, none of which I shall read! Thanks for the
fourth volume of the Japan Expedition, which you are
going to send me!
' In his Journal, under date of March 1, Mr. Longfellow wrote :
" A soft rain falling all day long, and aU day long I read The Marble
Faun. A wonderful book, but with the old dull pain in it that
runs through all Hawthorne's writings."
68 CORRESPONDENCE. , [1861.
Here is a note for your work on the Barbary States :
" The last piratical expeditions were about the end of the twelfth
century, and in the following century thraldom, or slavery, was, it is
understood, abolished by Magnus, the Law Improver." — Laino,
Hdmskringla, i. 112.
Eead, in the same work, Sigvat's Free-Speaking Song
(ii. 374). The description of the Thing, with the "gray-
bearded men. in corners whispering," is good; so is
" Be cautious, with this news of treason
Flying about ; give them no reason."
I only hope we shall stand firm.
From G. S. Trebutien}
BiBLiOTHiiQUE DE Cabn, June 20, 1861.
Sir, — I sent you at the close of last month two vol-
umes which I have published, and which I intended to
follow at once with a letter. But I have been ill, and
unable to use a pen. Even to-day I must limit myself
to informing you of my having sent the books, so that
you may at least know from whom they come. They are
the offering of one of the most distant and most unknown
of your admirers. I thought that the works of Maurice
de Guerin, the young poet who died before his time, and
who had given promise to France of one more genius,
were worthy of your acceptance. I shall be happy to
learn that they have crossed the ocean in safety, and that
you have received them favorably.
Normandy owes you thanks, and I would gladly be the
one to offer them. You have sung of our old poet of the
people, Oliver Basselia, — a great honor to him.
" True, his songs were not divine."
1 The editor of the writings of Maurice and Eugenie de Guerin.
The original letter is in French.
1862,] CORKESPONDENCE. 69
I have not heard that you ever visited our province.
Nevertheless many persons have helieved so (and have
even said it in print), by the manner in which you speak
of the Val de Vire and of the house of the old song- writer.
Certain it is that, if you have not seen with your own
eyes that picturesque spot, you know it by that intuition
which is the gift of great poets. At any rate, I hope that
if you come to Trance you will not forget Normandy and
the city of Malherbe, and that I shall have the honor of
receiving you at the Library of Caen.
Maurice de Gu^rin had a sister, sharer of his soul and
his genius. One day, writing a letter from outre-mer to
a relative in the Isle of France, and thinking of the dangers
which the letter was about to incur, she said : " Is it pos-
sible that a leaf of paper launched upon the ocean should
arrive at its address, and come to the eye of my cousin ?
It is incredible, unless some angel-voyager take the note
under his wing." I cannot help thinking of the hazard
which attends this letter I have written. But I hope
that some good spirit of the seas will take it under his
wing and bear it to the author of 'The Two Angels,' —
that poem which has moved me so deeply, and the only
one in which I have felt the poetry through a foreign
tongue.
Accept, I pray you, sir, the assurance of my most
respectful and devoted sentiments.
G. S. Teebutien.
To .
April 23, 1862.
Tour letter and your poems have touched me very
much. Tears fell down my cheeks as I read them, and I
think them very true and tender expressions of your sense
of logs.
70 CORKESPONDBNCB. [1862.
So the little ones fade and fall, like blossoms wafted
away by the wind ! But the wind is the breath of God,
and the falling blossoms perfume the air, and the remem-
brance of them is sweet and sacred.
In our greatest sorrows we must not forget that there
is always some one who has a greater sorrow, or at all
events a more recent one ; and that may give us courage,
though it cannot give us comfort.
From .
Victoria, Vancodveb Island,
June 12, 1862.
Dear Me. Longfellow, — A few days ago I was told
an Indian legend, genuine Chimsean (the Chimseans are
a tribe living close to Victoria), related by very old Chim-
sean lips to an English clergyman here, — a bit of theology
which instantly put me in mind of the beautiful legends
you have so gracefully rendered into poetry, and which, in
the hope of its being new to you, I cannot resist sending.
One feature in it has so strong an affinity with the story
of Eve and the tree of knowledge as to be really striking.
In starting, I must remind you that the Olympian range
of mountains is on the opposite side the straits of Tula, in
Washington Territory, and is so grand and Alpine-like a
chain, the many-peaked summit crowned with eternal
snow, that no one knowing it can wonder that it should
have figured in the legend which embodies the Chimsean
belief as to the peopling of our globe. It is as follows :
Afar off in the land of Nokun, there beyond the Olym-
pian mountains, years and years ago, dwelt two women,
the only beings on earth. As they lay side by side upon
the ground one starlight night, the one said to the other,
pointing to the heavens above : " Oh, how I should like
that pale-faced star for my husband ! " And said the
1862.] CORRESPONDENCE. 71
other: "Oh, how I should like that red-faced star for
mine!" And they were the two brightest stars in heaven.
The women fell into a deep sleep, awoke, and found them-
selves in the sky amid the stars ; and all took place as
they had wished. They were very happy in heaven, the
one with her pale-faced and the other with her red-faced
husband, and they had plenty of fine things, and lots of
beds of onions (the Chimsean gourmand's especial weak-
ness) ; but in the middle of the largest bed grew an im-
mensely large onion, which the pale-face and the red-face
told them they were on no account to touch.
But one day, when the pale-face and the red-face were
away hunting, the two women went straight to the great
onion-bed and pulled at the great onion. They pulled
and pulled and pulled, till they pulled it right up. And
below there was a great hole; and peeping through the
hole, they saw beneath them the world they had left,
looking far, far away, and very green and beautiful And
straightw9,y they longed to return home. Eolling the
great onion back into its hole, in secret and whenever the
pale-face and the red-face were safely away hunting, they
began to plait what in course of time became a long, stout
rope of grass and rushes and whatever else they could
find ; and as they made it they carefully hid it out of sight.
One day when they had plaited a great quantity, and the
pale-face and the red-face were safely away hunting, the
women pulled up the great onion again, and let the rope
fall down toward the earth below. But, alas ! it was too
short. So they pulled it up again as fast as ever they
could, and plaited a piece more to it, and let it doWn again ;
and this time it touched the earth below. Then one of
the women slid down upon it ; and when she was safely
landed on the earth she gave the rope a shake, to signify
that all was right, and then the other woman slid down.
And then they gave the rope a good pull, and pulled it
72 CORRESPONDENCE. [1864.
right down, so that the pale-face and the red-face might
not come after them to punish them ; and the many coils
of the rope in falling made the long line of the Olympian
mountains as they stand to this day. And the children
born of the two women grew and filled the earth with
people. And, as the children say, that is all.
From T. G. Appleton.
London, June 28, 1864.
. . . We congratulated each other on the ruin of the
wicked "Alabama." The Vice-Consul was in, the day
before, to see us, and he told me that only three men were
wounded in the " Kearsarge," none killed ; that shells
struck the chains without penetrating. The whole thing
has produced much effect here, and our splendid firing
sounds uncomfortable so near these shores. There is
much feeling among the Americans and their friends
here at the carrying off the enemy after she had sur-
rendered. The " Alabama " intended to try boarding, but
could not make it out, the " Kearsarge " being the better
sailor.
A splendid dinner the other day at the Benzons' ; a
better I never ate. I sat between Browning and young
Lytton, and had Ernst, the composer, and Louis Blanc
opposite. It was very pleasant. Browning asked after
you and George Curtis, and spoke with much feeling of
Hawthorne, whom he knew well. He evidently has the
very highest opinion of his abilities. The Storys are
here, and a great comfort to me. We went to Walton and
spent a day. It was extremely pleasant, and like the old
times. We recalled a thousand past pleasant moments,
and refurbished all our old jokes. Colonel Hamley, of
Lady Lee's Widowhood, was there, and vowed I was an old
friend, so much had he heard me talked of. looked
1865.] COREESPONDBNCE. 73
well ; all the better for having tried " Banting," — a sys-
tem of thinning introduced here by an upholsterer, whose
pamphlet I have read. They have added a rose-bed to
their pretty lawn, and it reminded me of the old pictures
in Beauty and the Beast, — only so far as the roses are
concerned, however. I was yesterday at the Crystal
Palace to see a flower-show. How I wish A. and the lads
could see that " Versailles of the people," as Victor Hugo
calls it in his new rhapsody about Shakspeare, — a book
you might glance at. I have seen Fechter in Hamlet.
Superbly got up, and Hamlet new and good. Very swift
and colloquial in the dialogue; and, but for a kind of whine,
the best, on the whole, I have seen. Great talk of war
here; look out for squalls. There is much notion that
England should not allow the Danes to go to the wall.
A war would leave us still freer to finish our own. The
Lyells went last Sunday to hear [M. D.] Conway, and were
loud in his praise. I went to hear Martineau in his new
church. He is refined and agreeable. There is no great
show of carriages at his door, as is the case always with
the Unitarians.
To Henry Bright (in Liverpool).
February 14, 1855.^
I should have vsTitten you by the last steamer, but
missed it, somehow or other; and so this will come to you
as a valentine. The pheasants and the grouse, I am most
happy to say, arrived without accident and in excellent
condition. They were delicious, particularly the pheas-
ants, and furnished two or three dinners ; at one of
which I had to raeet them, — Agassiz, Lowell, and Apple-
ton. They praised, and the dinner was not cold ; and I
think the birds, could they have foreseen their meeting
1 An error of insertion discovered too late to be corrected.
74 COUKESPONDENCE. [1865.
with such illustrious shades in this other world, would
have been willing to die.
Our united thanks to you for this banquet, and mine
for the gift and the kind remembrance. I regretted only
that Charles Norton was not with us ; he was not to be
had on that day. He is not the " student " of the Wayside
Inn ; that was a Mr. Wales, now dead.
The sky of Europe looks very dark and stormy; and
this, if nothing else, would be enough to deter me from
the visit I have sometimes thought of, and once thought
so near. We have five children ; and I think I may have
said to you before that these are five good reasons for
staying at home.
Hawthorne writes from Italy that we may look for him
in the summer. He has had a gloomy winter in Eome,
and does not like his residence there. He thinks that
England has spoiled him for the Continent. See the mis-
chief your hospitality has done !
To G. W. Greene..
February 26, 1865.
Now is a good time to come to Cambridge. Do not
procrastinate in the coming; but in the going as much
as you like. The weather, to be sure, is not much better
than Catawba wine, with a certain exaggerated flavor of
something very fine. But we can turn the world outside
in, and so be pretty comfortable. . . . To-morrow I shall
be fifty-eight years old. I wish you were here to celebrate
the day. I will postpone the celebration till you come.
The Inferno is a very handsome book.^ I have a copy
for you.
1 The first edition of his Translation, published in 1867 ; but a
few copies were printed in 1865.
1865.] CORRESPONDENCE. 75
From G. P. Marsh}
Turin, May 15, 1865.
Deae Sir, — Two or three days after mine of the 2d
was posted I received your favor of April 8, and I now
have the pleasure of enclosing herewith the official ac-
knowledgment of the receipt of the volume presented by
you to the Dante Centenario, together with a copy of a
letter with which I had accompanied your donation. As
I had the translation in my hands only a very few hours,
I could only examine at a hurried moment, here and
there, a passage which occurred to me ; but I can truly
say that the expressions I used concerning it, in writing
to Signer Corsini, fall short of what I should very con-
scientiously have said if I had been addressing an Ameri-
can or English scholar. I was unable to attend the festa,
but shall go to Florence in a week. I am, dear sir.
Very faithfully yours,
Geopge p. Marsh.
*
To G. W. Greene.
June 25, 18fi5.
Two days ago I sent you some reviews of the new
translations of Dante. Mr. Ford's I have not seen. To-
1 Mr, Marsh, the accomplished philological scholar, was the
American Minister in Italy at the time of the celebration of the six
hundredth anniversary of Dante's birth, to which Mr. Longfellow had
sent a copy of his translation of the Inferno, in advance of its pub-
lication (followed, of course, by the other volumes). In forwarding
it Mr. Marsh had written : " I am persuaded that the Committee
will receive this first American reproduction of the great poem — a
translation most valuable as well for its felicity of expression as for
the exactness with which my distinguished compatriot has had the
ability to render, in a language so foreign to that of the original, the
76 COERESPONDENCE. [1865.
day I send you a curious paragraph about Dante's bones.^
Can it be true ? The same thing happened to Shake-
speare, and pretty much in the same way. Irving men-
tions it in the Sketch-book ; 'though the old sexton who
looked into the hole " could see neither coffin nor bones,
only dust."
We shall soon be going to Nahant, and when once
there I become as fixed as the rocks themselves. I
should like to visit you at_ East Greenwich, but am
afraid to promise.
To G. W. Greem.
September 20, 1865.
I was just leaving Nahant when I received your last
sorrowful letter, and have not found a moment to answer
it. I am now going down to the Library to consult " Livy,
who errs not," about that famous Battle of the Eings, and
scribble this to post on the way. I am most truly
grieved to hear of your illness, and that of your house-
hold. It must be very distressing to you. But married
men must have courage, and always courage. I know too
well what it is to carry my heart in my mouth not to
sympathize deeply with you. Thinking of you in my
dressing-room last night, where we have so often discussed
passages of Dante while sharing the hot and cold water
between us, it came into my mind that a translation of
thought of Dante's sovereign genius — as a contribution most fitting
the solemnity of the Centenary, and at the same time as a worthy
homage from the New World to one of the chief glories of the
country of its discoverer."
^ In some reparations which were making about the Braccioforte
Chapel at Ravenna, in the month of May of this year, the workmen
came upon a coffin containing bones which were identified as those
of Dante.
1865.] CORRESPONDENCE. 77
Dante's letters would make a good paper for the Atlantic,
and that yours is the pen to do it. It would not take
you more than a week, if I correctly estimate the amount
of matter from memory, and would be an agreeable
change. I have this morning written to Fields about
it. Be of good cheer!
CHAPTER V.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1866.
' To G. W. Gh-eene.
January 7, 1866.
I sent you the History some days ago; but not the
fenders. When I looked at them I saw all your darlings
tumbling over them into the fire, and determined to have
nothing to do with such a Slaughter of the Innocents.
Altogether too low and unsafe. You can do better in the
Judenstrasse, when you come. Meanwhile I will tell the
little man here to be on the lookout. Let me advise
you also to take an arm-chair instead of the lounge, which
is an ugly and inconvenient piece of furniture.
The little girls are highly delighted with your contri-
bution to The Secret ; and a special extra number of that
popular journal is to be devoted to it. Not every contri-
butor is treated with such distinguished regard.
Dante moves slowly^ but surely. Next Wednesday we
have canto ix. and perhaps x. I have just got, of Norton,
Covino's Descrizione Geographica dell' Italia, ad Ulustra-
zione della Divina Commedia. It is difficult to navigate
Dante's rivers and harbors without some such pilot.
JainAw.ry 9. At Dante Club, only Norton and myself.
Lowell excuses himself.
1866.] JOURNAIi AND LETTERS. 79
10th. Went up to see Lowell. He read me a beauti-
ful poem, ' What Rabbi Jehosha said,' — a Eabbinical
legend, which he was just sending to the Nation. After
dinner, a grazier, from Springfield, Illinois, President Lin-
coln's town, called to see Washington's headquarters.
12th. Cogswell and T. at dinner. Lowell could not
come, on account of his sore throat, but writes his excuse
in some funny verses on a claret gargle which I had
recommended to him.
To G. W. Greene.
January 15, 1866.
As Kieman has no good arm-chair, nor any prospect
of one, I told him this morning to send you the green
lounge, that you may lie down and meditate on the fenders,
of which he is in hot pursuit. For the lounge, you are to
pay nothing but the freight, which I forgot.
We miss you at the Dante Club, which goes singing on
its way, though diminished in numbers. Last Wednes-
day only Charles Norton and myself were present, Lowell
being kept at home by a sore throat. Whereupon I sent
him the enclosed prescription in Italian. The lines will
amuse you if you like nonsense verses. [See p. 436.]
To Charles Snmner.
January 17, 1866.
I hardly know which is most revolting, — the article
sent you in a box, or that served up for you on the
dirty Round Table. Each shows about the same amount
of barbarism, and each is equally harmless to yourself
and discreditable to the author. So let them pass away,
among the things forgotten.
Meanwhile, it grows more and more evident that we
shall have no peace in the country tiU your doctrines
80 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1866.
prevail. All accounts from the South hetray a deplorable
state of feeling toward the negro.
I have nothing new to write you, not having been in
town since the day of the "Tattered Flags," — which was
a most impressive occasion, — a month ago, or more.
Dante marches on slowly, and with decorum. In
printing, — or rather, stereotyping, — I have now reached
the tenth canto of Paradiso. A little club meets here
every Wednesday evening, — Lowell, Norton, and myself ;
with sometimes an outsider or two. We go over a canto
critically, and then have a supper. I wish we could have
you with us. Take down your Dante, and read the be-
ginning of Paradiso xi.
17th. Dante Club. Lowell, Norton, Fields, T. Para-
diso xi. Great discussion about the meaning of in basso
in the third line, etc.
To G. W. Greene.
January 18, 1866.
In Paradiso xi., line 3, does in basso imply motion
downward, or simply motion below ? Is it to be rendered
" downward beat your wings," or " beat your wings below " ?
This is one of the points we discussed last night. Another
was, adopting the reading ricerna, not discerna, in line 22,
— whether he sifted it fine or coarse. A third was, per
diritto segno, line 120, — whether it refers to the stars he
steered by, or simply means " straight upon its course,"
or "in the right course." And fourthly, and finally, in
line 138 shall one read il Correggier, " the Dominican," or
il correger, " the reproof " ? Do not give yourself the
trouble to hunt these matters through various editions-
but if one rendering strikes you as more simple and
1866.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. . 81
natural than another, please answer as follows, without
giving any reasons, or even filling out the sentences : —
1. Downward. 2. Sift fine. 3. Eight course. 4. Ee-
proof. Or the reverse, as the case may be. This is criti-
cism made easy.
In a paper which I send you to-day, you will find some
of yoiir own views pretty vigorously stated, on the subject
of reprints of English notices. The abuse of Sumner is
simply atrocious ; it must come from a very vulgar mind.
Burn it.
22d. Note from Fields, who likes the new sonnets
ii. and iii., ' On Translating Dante,' and wishes to print
them in the Atlantic.
28th. Dante Club; Paradiso xxii. Norton, Lowell,
Fields, Akers, and Mr. Howells, — formerly consul at
Venice, poet and prose-writer ; a very clever and culti-
vated young man.i
To G. W. Greene.
February 9, 1866.
This is a lovely winter morning. I cannot tire looking
out of the window at the brown branches against the
colorless gray sky. The air is windless, and the snow
falling gently ; the nearest glimpse we can have of crea-
tion, the beautiful something that comes from nothing, —
the crystallization of air !
Please read this as a sonnet, and pass on.
I wish all things would go on smoothly in this world.
Now, here is our good Fields frightened at the length of
the Dante letters. But at the last Dante Club, Lowell
and Norton, as well as myself, were so positive that they
ought to go into the Magazine, that he seemed to take
1 But lately come to Cambridge, as will be inferred.
6
82 LETTERS. [1866.
heart. I confess it is a quality of food not adapted to the
great mass of Magazine readers. But I trust the Atlantic
has some judicious readers who like to have some timber
ia the building, and not all clapboards. Norton has
translated the Vita Nuova, and is translating the Convito.
To G. W. Greene.
February 18, 1866.
" The airy tongues that syllable men's names " begin
again to cry with constant iteration, " When is Mr. Greene
coming ? " I am then reminded that you promised to be
here on my birthday. Moreover, Howe has just asked me
to dine with him on the convenient " some day " to be
appointed by the guest. (" Vinum, non haheo," he says,
" but a warm welcome.") Whereupon I make answer
and say, " I am expecting Greene ; wait a little, and we
will come together." This pleases him, and he writes
you the enclosed. Then there is the Dante meeting on
Wednesday evening, and the Saturday Club dinner close
upon us ; and, putting all things together, now is the time
to come. I want you also to sign a petition for an inter-
national copyright, which is lying on my desk, and which
I will keep as long as possible.
Have you read Sumner's speech ? I have not, except
in part, from newspapers. I do not know about the
details, but I am sure of his fidelity.
To G. W. Greene.
March 20, 1866.
You will certainly thmk that this is the land of fu-
nerals. We have just buried our old and dear friend
Sparks, and now another friend, whom I saw at Sparks's
funeral full of life and strength, is dead.i Vespasian died
1 Charles Beck, Ph. D., for many years Professor of Latin in
Harvard College.
1866.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 83
standing ; Dr. Beck died on horseback. Yesterday after-
noon, as he was riding with a party of friends, he reeled in
the saddle. He was caught by some one of the party, car-
ried home, and died in the course of the evening without
any consciousness after the attack. It was apoplexy.
He is a great loss to us, — a man of convictions, and who
had the courage of his convictions and always acted up
to them ; a most excellent, sincere, just, charitable, good
man ; and a thoroughly loyal man in every sense of the
word ; who, in the Eebellion, wished to serve as a foot-
soldier, — to his honor be it remembered, — and was only
refused on account of his age. Cambridge will soon be
stripped of all the Old Guard. When Sumner returns he
will find it more of " a shell " than ever, — a flattering
phrase which he sometimes uses in speaking to me.
April 1. Easter Sunday. I always think, in connec-
tion with its greater significance, of Virgil and Dante
emerging on the shores of Purgatory.
To G. W. Greene.
AprU 1, 1866.
This is Easter morning, with all its
"Dolce color d'oriental zaffiro ; "
and I send you the salutation and benediction of the
day.
In worldly matters, I send you Deeds, not words ; or,
better to speak, good deed and word intermingled. On
account of the weather, I could not go to the Notary
Pubhc (in this case the Eecording Angell of Ehode Island,
as you will see by his signature) until yesterday, when
the whole matter was settled, signed, sealed, and deliv-
ered. And if you have as much pleasure in having it
84 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1866.
done as I have in doing it, this will be a pleasant Easter. *
I must go out and breathe the beautiful air and "expati-
ate," like Milton's bees and Dante's lark.
Where shall I find the best account of Monte Cassino ?
2d. I meet in the street some young ladies, who ask
if "they may shake hands with" me. Bring them in,
with a gentleman and lady who seem to have charge of
the party, to see the house. They are from Philadelphia ;
but I do not learn their names.
3d. I have to go to town on business, and hope it
may not happen again for a long while. Loring Moody [a
philanthropist and philozoist] calls, — the man with the
beautiful soul and beautiful face.
May 1. A bright, warm, lovely May-day. The chil-
dren have a May-pole in the garden ; and are busy putting
up a tent. It is half-past twelve o'clock, and I have just
finished the Notes to the Purgatorio.
10th. " Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares
Of earth and folly born ;
Ye shall not dim the light that streams
From this celestial morn.''
31st. Dined at Mr. Forceythe Wilson's with Emerson
and Kev. Dr. Bartol.^ In the afternoon took to the printer
the last canto of Paradiso.
June 1. A lovely, sad day.
2d. Darley has made some illustrations for 'Evangeline.'
13th. The last Dante reading. Lowell, Greene,
Holmes, Howells, Furness, and F. Wilson. Paradiso
xxxiii. A very pleasant supper, which did not break
' Mr. Longfellow had purchased and presented to hia friend a
house in East Greenwich.
^ Mr. Wilson was a young poet of promise then in Cambridge,
who died soon after.
1866.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 85
lip till two o'clock in the morning. After it Greene and
I sat talking in the study till three. The day was dawn-
ing and the birds singing when we went to bed.
To G. W. Greene.
July 1, 1866.
Your letter reached me yesterday ; and I am glad to
hear that you are surrounded with the pleasant sounds
of building a home. Nest-building, ship-building, bridge-
building, house-building, — all pleasant, though sometimes
noisy !
I have left the little girls in Portland, where I passed a
day or two with them ; and, among other things, had a
sail down Casco Bay through the wooded islands, and
wished you there. We go to Nahant on the fifth ; and if
you find the hammering about your ears too bad you must
take your carpet-bag in hand and run down to see us.
Bring Fields with you.
Sumner has gone back to Washington and is now
simmering in the dust and heat of that incipient city.
I wish be were free. This relapse is a warning that he
can no longer work day and night.
July 11. Nahant. Charles sailed from here in the
yacht "Alice," with Clark and Stanfield [for a voyage
across the Atlantic in a vessel of fifty tons].
August 0. A message by Atlantic cable. The" Alice "
reached the Isle of Wight in nineteen days.
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, July 23, 1866.
It is rather dreary and doleful at Nahant this year, and
I hope you will soon show yourself. I do not get much
86 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1866.
work out of myself here, and enjoy talking on the windy
verandas more than writing.
I have been in Portland, since the fire.^ Desolation,
desolation, desolation ! It reminded me of Pompeii, " that
sepult city." The old family house was not burned, the
track of the fire passing just below it.
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, July 29, 1866.
I wish it were possible for you to come now. After
the middle of August, A. is expecting four of her school-
girl friends, and we shall be crowded. Bring some new
chapters of the Biography,^ and we will have a quiet and
delightful iuterchange of thought on this and many other
matters ; and I will do my best to make you like Nahant ;
and, as Chaucer says, —
" And ded and quicke be ever yours
Late, erly and at alls houres."
My house is only five minutes walk from the steam-
boat-landing, and on the same southern shore. Another
reason for coming soon is the moon! The nights are
divine.
Have you Scipio's Dream in English ? If so, bring it.
Septemler 14. Eetumed from Nahant. Find on my
table two books of poems by H. A. Eawes of Trinity,
Cambridge, intensely Eoman Catholic. Also a volume of
poems by Eobert Leighton of Liverpool, very liberal and
Unitarian.
1 A fire which on the 4th of July devastated a large part of the
city.
2 Mr. Greene was engaged upon a Life of his grandfather. General
Nathaniel Greene of the army of the Revolution.
1866.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 87
16th. After chapel, went to Lowell's. He has nothing
to do in college now but to lecture. He is at work on a
political article for the North American.
18th. In town. Bought sundry articles for Christmas
presents. There is nothing like being in season.
19th. Corrected proofs and wrote letters. Dined at
Mr. Hooper's, to meet Baron Gerolt, the Prussian Minister,
a precise old gentleman with a good deal of Prussian
rigidity.
To G. W. Greene.
September 28, 1866.
For the first time in my life I was this morning stung
by a wasp. He ahghted on my fore-finger, and without
provocation whipped out his rapier and gave me such a
thrust that it has almost paralyzed my hand. The pain
went to my elbow, and I had a taste of galvanism on the
tip of my tongue. This being a new experience and a new
sensation, I record it here, and proceed.
Your entanglement in the thickets of 1778 is not un-
like mine at this moment in the tenth canto of Paradiso,
among the innumerable saints. My Notes on that canto
will amaze you. They are almost as voluminous as the
writings of Albertus Magnus, which fill twenty-one vol-
umes folio. However, I have got through, or nearly so ;
but have found it pretty hard work to compress Thomas
Aquinas, St. Francis, and the rest, into their several nut-
shells.
Sumner is busy, at work on a lecture which he is to
deliver on Tuesday next, — and on Tuesday last had only
begun. What confidence Sumner has in Sumner ! I
would not trust H. W. L. to that amount, nor would you,
G. W. G.
88 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1866.
Ernest will be back in November, for his twenty-first
birtb-day. I hope you will be able to combine that with
Eistori.
Let me close with a blossom from St. Bonaventura.
" The best perfection of a religious man is to do common
things in a perfect manner. A constant fidelity in small
things is a great and heroic virtue."
October 6. Parmenides and Brissus \Paradiso xiii.]
must wait. Instead of writing of them I was obliged to
go to town. This evening I expect Carl Eosa, Hatton, and
Mr. Mills to make some music, and one or two friends to
hear them.
17th. A beautiful day it is ; full of sunshine, and
all the trees lighted like torches. A stranger called here
to-day, to see Washington's Headquarters. He asked me
if Shakespeare did not live somewhere about here. I told
him I knew no such person in this neighborhood.^
19th. Warm and splendid ; all the fields and roads
bordered with red and gold, like an illuminated missal.
28th. Hepworth Dixon called, and passed an hour this
aifternoQu. An ardent temperament and a great talker.
He is editor of the London Athenaeum, which has been
too full of sneers at us poor outsiders.
30th. Eain at last, and it seems to enjoy itself greatly.
November 30. The south wind whistling through the
keyhole, and roaring over the chimney. I have just
finished the last Note to Dante ; eleven in the forenoon.
December 16. Bayard Taylor came to dinner, and the
young Comte de Lubersac. After dinner, Norton came in
* At another time, a man who came to the house in Portland to
make some repairs, inquired " if a Mr. Shakespeare, or some such
name, was not born there." It would appear that to some persons,
as to Sir Topas, " a poet is — a poet."
1866.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 89
with Baron M , a young Hollander, who brings me
an introduction.
To diaries Sumner.
December 18, 1866.
This is a business letter. I want you to take up the
copyright question, and to introduce a Bill in the Senate,
providing " that any copyright hereafter taken out in Eng-
land or ia any of her colonies, shall be valid in the United
States, on condition that England will pass a similar law
in reference to copyright taken out in the United States."
This seems to me to cover the whole ground, and to be
simple and practicable. I wish you would consult Sir
Frederick Bruce on the subject ; and if you are too busy, or
have no inclination to move in the matter, can you tell me
of any one who will? If I were a senator, there is no
measure with which I should be more eager to associate
my name. Think upon it and reply. As to limitation of
time, when any copyright expired in the country in which
it was taken out, it should expire in the other. This is
the best plan I can think of, and I hope you will be
interested in it.^
19th. First of the Dante Club meetings for the winter.
Lowell, Norton, Baron M , Fields. Discussed various
points in Inferno i. ii. The Baron is an intelligent and
agreeable young man, of Scotch ancestry.
25th. All holidays and anniversaries are so sad to me.
I almost sink under the burden.
26th. Dante Club. Lowell, Norton, Howells, and
Fields.
» Mr. Sumner answered that the subject of copyright was before
the Committee on Foreign Relations, of which he was chairman, and
that he hoped to do something for it. Sir Frederick Bruce was then
English .minister at Wa-shington. He died the next year, in Boston.
90 LETTERS. [1866.
To Romeo Cantagalli}
1866.
Deae Sie, — I have liad the honor of receiving your
letter of the 18th inst., with the Diploma and Cross of
the Order of SS. Maurizio and Lazzaro.
If, as an American citizen, a Protestant, and Eepublican,
I could consistently accept such an Order of Knighthood,
there is no one from whom I would more willingly receive
it than from the Eestorer of the Unity of Italy, — a sacred
cause, which has, and always has had, my most sincere
and fervent sympathy.
I trust, therefore, that you will not regard it as the
slightest disrespect either to your Sovereign or to yourself
if, under these circumstances, I feel myself constraiaed to
decline the honor proposed.
With expressions of great regard and consideration, I
remain your obedient servant.
1 Signer Cantagalli, the Italian ChargS d'affaires in WasMngton,
had written Mr. Longfellow : " It is my agreeahle duty to announce
to you that his Majesty the King, my Sovereign, has deigned to con-
fer upon you, in token of the high esteem in which he holds yovir
talents, the grade of Gavaliere in his Order of SS. Maurizio and
Lazzaro." To Mr. Sumner Mr. Longfellow wrote that he " did not
think it appropriate to a Eepublican and a Protestant to receive a
Catholic Order of Knighthood ; " and added, « I wonder how this
matter has found vent ; I have tried to keep it secret."
CHAPTER VI.
JOUKNAL AND LETTERS.
1867-1868.
May 1. Dante Club ; the last of the season. Norton,
Greene, Howells, Fields, and Whipple.
4th. Heard Agassiz lecture. He had an iatroduction
on the duties of teacher and taught ; and made a strong
protest against the pupil's running off with the master's
ideas and publishing them as his own. Evening, at Nor-
ton's. Vita Nuova. A very pleasant evening and supper.
5th. On my walk met Henry James, who said some
pleasant words about the translation of Dante ; and after-
wards Cogswell, who did the same.
6th. Showed Fields a new sonnet which I wrote last
night, and which is to go into the Purgatory. The Dante
work is now all done, — the last word, and the final cor-
rections, all' in the printer's hands.
To J. T. Fields.
May 6, 1867.
I believe you have my copy of Flaxman's Dante. Please
tell me if it be so; for I cannot find it, and must have
lent it, and I may as well begin with you as with any
other friend.
Nbtwithstanding what you say, the sonnet is poor and
feeble. It stands well enough upon its feet, but it has no
legs, no body, no soul.
92 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1867.
Poor ! You must try to get some people to take
tickets, whether they go to the lectures or not. This is a
real tragedy, and a real charity.
To Bohert Ferguson.
May 8, 1867.
It was only yesterday that I had the pleasure of re-
ceiving your charming birthday present, the Delia Crusca
edition of the Commedia. It is a cara gioia, a precious
jewel of a book, which I value very highly, for its own
sake and for yours. You could not have thought of a
more acceptable gift ; and I am very much obliged to you
for it, and for the kind remembrance.
I suppose that before this time you have received a
copy of my translation of the Inferno. The second volume
will be out this month, and the third in June. They will
be duly sent you, with copies for Miss F and Mr.
Dayman, which I took the liberty of having directed to
your care. The only merit my book has is that it is
exactly what Dante says, and not what the translator
imagines he might have said if he had been an English-
man. In other words, while making it rhythmic, I have
endeavored to make it also as literal as a prose translation.
We are all well at the Craigie House, and are beginning
to think what we shall do this summer. The great point
is, shall it be Nahant or England ? How it will be settled
I do not know ; perhaps, by accident or fate, — certainly,
by Providence.
11th. Went with the girls down the harbor in the
steam revenue cutter Pawtuxet, to the outer light, and the
outer islands — the Brewsters. Professors Peirce, Agassiz,
and Goodwin were of the party ; Judge Eussell the Col-
lector, and Captain Hockley, of the China, the English
1867.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 93
steamer. Eeturning, we stopped near the school-ship,
which was crowded with boys, all singing an evening
hymn. Then they manned the yards and gave us three
cheers, which we returned. A very striking sight. Then
we went on board the China ; and so ended a day of great
delight to the girls, which they will not soon forget, —
particularly the jolly captain's cry for beer: "Steward,
some heah ; I 'm dying for some beah."
To Ferdinand Frdligrath.
May 24, 1867.
Of late years I have almost given up writing letters ;
and when one gets out of the habit of doing a thing, it
becomes difficult.
From time to time, as I have published a book in
London, I have never failed to tell Eoutledge to send a
copy to you. I hope he has always done so ; and that you
have received the Wayside Inn, the Flower de Luce, and
lastly, the translation of the Divina Commedia, of which
two volumes have been published, and the third will
appear in June.
I hope, my dear Freiligrath, that we shall some day
meet again; and I wish it could be on the Ehine. I
always remember our last evening at St. Goar, when we
paced to and fro on the banks of the river till near mid-
night ; and all that we said. I have always loved you,
and never for a moment has my feeling abated or changed.
I beg you to write me about yourself, about your dear
wife, about your dear children.
Of what I have been through, during the last six years,
I dare not venture to write even to you ; it is almost too
much for any man to bear and live. I have taken refuge
in this translation of the Divine Comedy, and this may
give it perhaps an added interest in your sight.
94 JOURNAL. [1867.
28th. Agassiz's birthday. Pass the evening with him.
He is sixty years old.
June 1. Went with Fields to see Story's bust of
Browning the poet, at Mr. Dana's in Arlington Street.
Very good ; but not so good as that of Mrs. Browning by
the same artist. In the evening went to hear some music
at the Music Hall. Mr. Thayer played. We sat in the
twilight, some fifty of us, on the platform, under Beet-
hoven's statue, without lights in the gathering dark-
ness, and listened for an hour or two. It was very
impressive.
2d. Another lovely day ; the lilacs all in bloom and
tossing in the wind. Agassiz calls and sits half an hour.
In the afternoon. Parsons the poet and translator of Dante.
We have a talk about theories of translation.
4th. I met in the street an Irish mason, whom I have
seen now and then about new houses. I wished him good
morning, and joining me he said, " I am glad to speak to
a poet. I have meself a brother in the Port, who is a
drunkard and a poet."
5th. Bought books ; some for the Portland Library,
some for myself. In the afternoon Captain Dixon from
Kidderminster called with a letter from Elihu Burritt.
Then Dana, with Mr. Jennings, the New York correspond-
ent of the London -Times, and his wife, a beautiful young
American.
6th. A perfect day. An excellent lecture from Lowell,
on Shakespeare. Then Sophocles calls to say that he
would to-morrow bring out Mr. Eangebd, the Greek En-
voy, to see me.
8th. Eead Sumner's speech on Alaska, or Eussian
America; and Calderon's La Vida es Sue'^.
1867.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 95
To G. W. Curtis.
June 13, 1867.
It was very pleasant to see your handwriting last even-
ing ; the next best thing to seeing yourself. At T.'s dinner
we missed you very much ; the only skeleton there was
your vacant chair. Kensett I found quite unchanged
after so many years that I have not met him ; just as
sweet and sound as ever ; and his voice murmuring on in
its old pleasant undertone, like a hidden brook.
Perhaps .you will infer from this last elaborate sentence
that my letter is meant for an autograph, and that I have
Mrs. in my eye. Not in the least. I have this
morning made my peace with her, or hope I have, by
writing to her in answer to a note received some time ago,
and by me neglected. Therefore you need not send this.
We are all well here, and begin to think of Nahant.
I wish there were any chance of seeing you there this
summer. Could we persuade you to come, if we tried?
18th. Mr. Eoutledge, my London publisher, came to
lunch. A sturdy, blue-eyed. North Country gentleman.
We had much talk of books and the book-trade. Dined
with Agassiz, to meet Senhor Azumbaja, the Brazilian
Minister.
19th. Sumner dined with me; and we went to the
Palfreys' ; then strolled through the college grounds and
sentimentalized.
20th. There was a beautiful wedding to-day; the
chimes ringing, as if Cambridge were still a village. This
and the lovely June weather made a very pleasant occa-
sion.
26th. The Paradise published to-day. And so endeth
the Divine Comedy ! Greene arrives in the evening, and
we celebrate the occasion with a little supper.
96 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1867.
27th. A rainy day. Eead Mrs. Eadcliffe's novel, the
Eomance of the Forest. Was this the sensation novel of
the last generation ? How feeble it seems !
July 1. Greene departs for home, and so ends a short
but pleasant visit. What cheer there is in the face of an
old friend !
8th. Nahant Eead Erckmann-Chatrian's pretty novel,
Le Bloeus. There is a great charm about the style ; very
simple and sweet in tone. Always, even in depicting war,
he preaches the go.spel of peace.
9th. Eeading over Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. Easy,
elegant narrative, and prodigality of strange adventure;
but it is verse rather than poetry, after all.
14th. The Eev. Mr. preached a sermon against
Liberal Christianity. He seems to prefer the illiberal.
18th. Dip into the Greek Anthology ; the most mel-
ancholy of books, with an odor of dead garlands about it.
Voices from the grave, cymbals of Bacchantes, songs of
love, sighs, groans, prayers, — all mingled together. I never
read a book that made me sadder.
August 1. Fields and Mrs. F. came with Mr. White,
President of the new Cornell University, to dine.
2d. A foggy morning ; and the lazy sea heaving in
with a low wash, wash, on the rocks. The sun begins to
break through the mist. There are few things so beau-
tiful as the clearing of the fog. I will go down and
watch it.
To John Neal.
August 2, 1867.
I had the pleasure of receiving your letter yesterday,
and am very happy to get your hearty approval of my
attempt to tell the exact truth of Dante. A great many
people think that a translation ought not to be too faith-
ful ; that the writer should put himself into it as well as
1867.] LETTERS. 97
his original ; tliat it should be Homer and Co., or Dante
and Co. ; and that what the foreign author really says
should be falsified or modified, if thereby the smoothness
of the verse can be unproved. On the contrary I main-
tain — and am delighted that you agree with me — that
a translator, like a witness on the stand, should hold up
his right hand and swear to "tell the truth, the whole
truth, and nothiug but the truth." You, who all your life
long have been fighting for.the truth in all things, with-
out fear or favor, could not, I am sure, think otherwise.
To Ferdinand Freiligrath.
Nahant, August 12, 1867.
I have received and read with great eagerness and
pleasure your three letters, in which you give me exactly
the kind of iaformation I wanted about yourself and your
family ; so that I feel now as if I really knew your chil-
dren as well as you and your wife. I have read also with
the deepest interest the several accounts, in the paper and
pamphlet you were so kind as to send, of the honors done
you in your native country.
The whole movement seems to be a national one ; and
I am delighted to see the German heart thus warm to-
wards you. I can well imagine that some indiscreet
individual may do or say something now and then which
will not be exactly pleasant ; but the whole movement is
so honorable to you and to all concerned in it, and so spon-
taneous and universal that you ought to accept it with
joy-
You are called back to your country as Dante wished
to be to his, — by acclamation. It is your coronation.
How well you deserved it, it is not needful for me to
say. . . .
98 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1867.
Very curious aud interesting is your discussion of that
favorite metre of Burns ; and your conclusion is doubtless
perfectly correct. It came into Scotland witli French
claret, and both became equally popular. Very amusing
and cleverly done are those lines on cleaning your study.
I sympathize with you, as I suppose every bookish man
must. But not every one gets his sorrows so well
sung.
No doubt, after a while you wiU gravitate back to the
Continent.
I do not wholly despair of meeting you again on the
Ehine, though I confess the chances at present are some-
what against it.
22d. Called on Agassiz, and found him busy dissecting
a huge skate. Intolerable fishy odor in his room.
23d. Wakened at six by singing of sailors, and look-
ing out of the window saw the Alice ^ at her moorings.
All landed safe for breakfast.
26th. Sail down to Manchester in the Alice, with
all the family, to visit the Danas. Pace the sands with
the old poet. Leave E. and A. behind to make a visit.
28th. I miss the little girls very much; though W.
and his sister are here to take their place.
30th. "Went down to Manchester with Fields. Oh,
quaint, quiet little sea-side village ! Eambled through its
streets with Mr. and Mrs. F., and climbed the rocks, and
then home to dinner at their pleasant house, where I
found Dr. Bartol and his wife, and Johnson the artist, and
others. Drove to Dana's for the children.
September 2. A bright morning. The sea very calm,
siding up along the rocks and beaches a long, low respi-
ration : —
1 Mr. T. G. Appleton's yacht.
1867.] JOURNAL. 99
" secondo che per ascoltare
Non avea pianto, ma che di sospiri
Che I'aura etema facevan tremare."'
20th. Eeturn home. Sail up to Boston in the " Alice,"
and walk out to Cambridge in the evening.
24th. Forenoon, attended the funeral of Sir Frederick
Bruce, the British Minister. In the afternoon go to
Portland.
29th. Mr. Macmillan, the English publisher, and Pro-
fessor Child dine with me. After dinner LoweU and
Fields come in. We sit oiit, in the lovely weather, till
sunset.
October 1. Give the morning to business. In the even-
ing, go to hear Emerson lecture on " Eloquence." Then a
supper at Fields 's, where Mr. Macmillan is staying. Mr.
and Mrs. Emerson, Agassiz, Dr. Holmes, Lowell, Wendell
Phillips.
2d. Dine with Sumner for the last time in the old
house (in Hancock Street, Boston). At sunset, walk
across the bridge with Sumner, and take leave of him at
the end of it.
13th. Had good Mr. Folsom to dine with us. He
grows old; it is like a summer sunset fading away.
14th. Eev. E. Hale came out with ISTewman Hall, the
popular preacher. Go into town in the evening to hear
him speak at the Music Hall, on "The Eelations between
England and America during the Late War." He made
out a very good case for England, and kept his immense
audience interested for two hours.
1 There, in so far as I had power to hear,
Were lamentations none, but only sighs
That tremulous made the everlasting air.
Inferno iv. 25.
100 LETTERS. [1867.
From A. P. Stanley.
Deanery, Webtminstek, Oct. 15, 186V.
Mt dbae Sir, — You will pardon me, although a
stranger personally, in writing to express to you, in case
it has not already been said by some other and nearer
member of the family, how deeply was valued and felt
your last tribute to the memory of Sir Frederick Bruce in
attending the funeral ceremony in Boston. We had heard
from him how much he had enjoyed his intercourse with
you. We httle thought that the next time we should
hear of you in connection with him would be in the tidings
that your venerable presence would be honoring his mem-
ory in death. It is the hardest of all tasks to believe at
such a moment that "celestial benedictions assume this
dark disguise." Yet as we stood in Dunfermline Abbey,
where his remains are laid beside his brother Eobert's, and
within the same walls that contain the burial-place of his
royal ancestors, I would fain hope that
" Amid these eartUy damps,
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be Heaven's distant lamps."
My dear wife, his beloved sister, begs me to ask you to
accept the enclosed likeness of that old church, so dear to
her race. He lies under the projecting transept which
has been built against the ancient edifice.
Once more let me ask you to forgive this intrusion, and
to receive this assurance of gratitude for this last service
from one who has often felt how much he owed to you
for the expression of thoughts which bind together our
two countries by the best of all possible bonds.
Yours sincerely,
Aethue p. Stanley.
1867.] JOURNAL. 101
17th. Walk up to Norton's. He shows me some of
Turner's sketches, — originals, which he has just received
from Euskin.
26th. At the Club dinner, many strangers. Among
them, Lord Amberley, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Vogeli. Lord A.
is son of Earl Eussell. Mr. H. is in the Colonial Office ; I
asked him to dinner to-morrow. Mr. V. is a Frenchman,
living in Brazil, who has come to Cambridge to translate
Agassiz's new book on Brazil.
Novemler 2. The funeral of Governor Andrew, whom
all men delight to honor.
6th. Ticknor and Fields give a beautiful banquet at
the Union Club, iu honor of the Bivina Commedia trans-
lation. Among other guests, E. H. Dana, of the Old
Guard of literature j Dr. Hayes, the Arctic explorer ; Lord
Amberley, etc.^
14th. Lord and Lady Amberley dined with me. Had
Agassiz to meet them. In the evening, drove to the
Observatory.
20th. Dined with Dr. Holmes. On my way, stopped
at the Parker House to see Dickens [just arrived from
England], whom I found very well and most cordial. It
was right pleasant to see him again, after so many years,
— twenty-five ! He looks somewhat older, but is as elastic
and quick in his movement as ever. At Holmes's we had
the Earl of Camperdown, Lord Morley, and Mr. Cowper ;
all very agreeable gentlemen.
21st. Young Holmes called with Lord C, who brings
me a letter from Motley, and whom I like very much.
Dined with Fields, — a dinner of welcome to Dickens.
22d. In town. Passed through the Public Garden,
and saw Story's statue of Everett, which is good. In the
evening Dickens came out to a little supper.
^ During dinner, a lovely wreath of choice flowers was brought
him, from Mrs. Fields, Mrs. Stowe, and Lady Amberley.
102 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1868.
28th. Thanksgiving-day. Dickens came out to a quiet
family dinner.
29th. In the afternoon Agassiz came to read us the
sheets of his closing chapters on Brazil.
December 2. A snow-storm, stopping at noon. Dickens's
first Eeading. "We all went ; a pleasant moonlight drive.
A triumph for Dickens. It is not reading exactly, but
acting; and quite wonderful in its way. He gave the
Christmas Carol and the " Trial," from Pickwick. The old
judge was equal to Dogberry.
5th and 6th. Dickens's Eeadings.
January 1, 1868. The new year begins with a snow-
storm. E. had, in the evening, a girl and boy party, with
music, and dancing, and supper ; very charming.
2d. A call from my old pupil and successor at Bruns-
wick, Professor Goodwin, now of Philadelphia. A pleasant
talk of old times.
To Charles Sumner.
January 12, 1868.
What a beautiful thing is silence! and yet one may
carry it a great deal too far. For instance, I have not yet
answered your Christmas greeting, and it is past Twelfth-
night ! I wlU not wish you a happy Kew Year ; only a
happier one. That, I am sure, is possible ; and from the
depth of my heart I wish it may be yours.
I am seriously meditating a flight to Europe in the
spring or early summer. Pirst to England, then to the
Continent. I think I can accomplish it ; and it would do
me great good, mentally and bodily.
Dickens has been, and is still, triumphant. His read-
ings — or recitations, rather — are wonderful to hear and
see. Sergeant Buzfuz's argument to the jury in"Bardell
vs. Pickwick," would delight you. In what raptures our
dear Pelton would be, were he now alive !
1868.] LETTERS. 103
To Miss F .
January 24, 1868.
Your letters about the Dante were altogether the
pleasantest that have come to me from England on the
subject. I am indeed very glad that you liked the trans-
, lation. I hold that the primary object of all translation
is to tell us exactly what a foreign author says; while
many others think that a translator may take all kinds of
liberties with his original.
. . . Our winter here has been rather cold and solitary,
and quite uneventful, save in the advent of Mr. Dickens.
His readings have enlivened us; and are, as you know,
wonderful in their way, and very interesting. I presume
you have heard him, and it is not necessary to enlarge
upon that topic.
When the weather is dull and cold, we talk of going to
Europe in the spring. When it grows milder, we are con-
tent to stay at home and avoid the troubles of travelling,
repeating the German proverb, —
" Osten und Westen,
Zu Haus am besten."
A fortnight on board an Atlantic steamer is not an ex-
hilarating subject of contemplation.
In speaking of Dickens, I ought to have added that in
all the cities where he has read, he has been received with
great enthusiasm; and the popularity of his works was
never greater in America than now. This puts to flight
the fears and surmises of those who thought there was
still some lurking grudge against him here, on account of
his American Notes and Martin Chuzzlewit. The result
of his coming here is a great triumph. When I listen to
Dickens, I always think how Felton would have enjoyed
these readings ; for he was one of the most constant and
104 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1868,
ardent admirers of the great novelist ; and his wide sym-
pathies made it possible for him to appreciate and enjoy-
all varieties of character. We still mourn for Felton.
I hope you have no brother nor friend in the Abyssinian
expedition. From this distance it looks like a forlorn piece
of work, which one would like to see well ended.
29th. Took up my 'New England Tragedy, to remodel
it.^ Wrote a fresh scene.
30th. Eemodelled and versified the first scene of act L
of the Tragedy. There is good material in it, if I can
fashion it. ,
February/ 4. I have worked pretty steadily on the
Tragedy; rewriting it from the beginning. Owen came
in the afternoon, bringing Mr. M. of Salem, Mr. Fry of
England, — descended from the Quakeress, Mrs. Fry. He
gave me a photograph of her, — from a portrait, of course.
10th. Went to town, for the first time for a fortnight.
The Tragedy is finished. I have worked steadily on it,
for it took hold of me, — a kind of possession. Evening at
Professor Horsford's, to meet Senator Morgan of New
York, who is versed in Indian affairs.
11th. The day is dark and dreary. A letter from
Sumner, which is also dark and dreary. Evening at T.'s,
where were some beautiful tableaux ; and the most beau-
tiful was M. L as a " portrait by Copley."
12th. Having finished the Tragedy of the Quakers, I
now design another, on Witchcraft.
14th. Eead John deal's Eachel Dyer, a tale of Witch-
craft. Some parts very powerful. I am overwhehned
with unanswered letters.
15th. Wrote a scene of the new tragedy. I think I
shall call it ' Giles Corey of the Salem Farms.' A homely
1 It waa at first written in prose, and a few copies were printed.
1868.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 105
name ; so is the subject. It is taking hold of me power-
fully.
18th. Wrote two scenes, — one of them the trial scene.
If this possession lasts, I shall soon finish the work.
19th. 'Cotton Mather in his Study;' mostly in his
own words.^
To J. T. Fields.
February 19, 1868.
I am delighted with Mrs. Fields's kind remembrance
and invitation for the 27th. And if I have not accepted
it sooner, attribute it only to one thing ; namely, that
since I saw you I have been possessed by an angel — or a
demon — to write another tragedy, which has absorbed
me for a time, and is now half finished. So I have two
to show you instead of one, — an awful consideration !
Tom Appleton has been here to-day, and tells me that
you are expecting Dickens this evening. I shall be de-
lighted to sup with you, as I always am. To have a
Dickens Eeading, and a supper too, will make a great
holiday.
Please do not say a word to anybody about the Trage-
dies. I want that kept a secret for the present.
21st. There seems to be a witch element in the air. As
I walked down to the Square this morning, I saw a great
placard on a fence, with a picture. It was the advertise-
ment of a new sensation-story, — The Witch Proof; or,
the Hunted Maid of Salem.
24th, 25th. Dickens Eeading [the second series].
27th. My birthday. Evening, Dickens read the Carol,
and "Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn." Then there was a
supper at Fields's, in honor of the day ! Dickens wrote
me a nice letter on the occasion.
* This scene was omitted in printing.
106 LETTERS. [1868.
From Charles Dickens,
Boston, February 27, 1868.
My dear Longfellow, — I wish you from my deepest
heart many, many happy returns of this day, — a precious
one to the civilized world, — and all earthly happiness
and prosperity. God bless you, my dear friend ! I hope
to welcome you at Gad's Hill this next summer, and to
give you the heartiest reception that the undersigned vil-
lage blacksmith can strike out of his domestic anvil.
Dolby will report that I have been terrifying him by
sneezing melodiously for the last half -hour. The moment
there is a fall from the sky, this national catarrh gives
me an extra grip. I dare not come to Fields's to-night,
having to read to-morrow ; but you shall in my flowing
cups (or sneezes) be especially remembered after to-night's
reading.
Even your imagination cannot conceive how admir-
ingly, tenderly, and truly.
Ever your affectionate Chaeles Dickens.
From E. H. Bana, Jr.
February 28, 1868.
My deae Me. Longfellow, — I regretted extremely
that I could not join the circle that honored your birthday
last night at Fields's. It was in my heart to go, but Dr.
Langmaid tells me that I have a little bronchitis ; and as
I must speak in the House, I must not expose myself,
and must keep early hours, and the like. . . .
Mrs. Dana and I regretted my hard fate, at home, and
thought what your birthday had been for letters, for
American letters, and especially for your friends, — among
whom we hope always to be.
With the best wishes for the year to come.
Yours faithfully, Eichaed H. Dana, Jk.
1868.] JOURNAL AND LITTEES. 107
29th. All this week, have done little or nothing on
the Tragedy. And I hoped to have finished it before my
birthday. A. and I dined with Dickens at the Parker
House, — a grand banquet given by him to Mrs. F .
We were eighteen in all.
March 2. At the rooms of the Historical Society, to
look over King James's Dsemonologie. After my return
I finished the Tragedy.
3d. Eetouch it here and there, and fill up gaps.
4th. Gave a dinner to Dickens.
To Charles Sumner.
March 9, 1868.
I have been so very busy, and so much driven to and
fro by visitors and various things, that I have not had
time to write you for a long while.
In the month of February I wrote two tragedies in
verse, — one on the persecution of the Quakers in Boston,
which I ha'd sketched out before [and indeed written and
printed in prose]'; and another, entirely new, on the
Salem Witchcraft. Please say nothing of this ; as I may
never publish them, and can hardly yet form an opinion
of them, they are so fresh from my mind.
The European expedition is taking shape. We are
going at the end of May, — probably in the " Eussia," on
the 27th. I do not like the breaking up of home and
drifting about the Old World ; but I suppose it is for the
best. I hope to come back better in body and mind. I
need a good shaking up, and expect to get it.
I am sorry, very sorry, that I cannot run on to Wash-
ington to see you before I go ; but there is no chance of
that, I fear.
Thanks for your Speech. I liked it greatly.
Good-night. God bless you.
CHAPTER VII.
LETTEES AND JOUENAIi.
1868-1869.
A FEW letters and two bits of diary, written
during Mr. Longfellow's last visit to Europe, are
here given.
To Robert Ferguson.
Station Hotel, York, June 19, 1868.
We reached York with great comfort, at 5.35 to the
minute. I hope you were as fortunate in reaching Car-
lisle. We had not left the station when the .train came
in from Leeds, bringing all the rest of the party. Ernest
came yesterday. We all stop at this hotel, which is a
very good one ; even more, — an exoellent one. Our
drawing-room window looks out upon the cathedral.
That cathedral ! If I said my say about it, you would
think me sixteen, instead of sixty. So I will be silent.
To-morrow we go to Matlock and Eowsley, where we
pass Sunday. On Monday or Tuesday, to Malvern ; and
trust to meet you there, to make the tour of Stratford,
Kenilworth, etc.
In great haste, with much love from my darlings.
To Mrs. J, T. Fields.
BoNCHURCH, July 19, 1868.
This letter is dated from your favorite hotel in the Isle
of Wight, and from parlor No. 4, with a glimpse of flowers.
1868.] LETTERS. 109
hedges, and tops of trees in the hollow, and of the blue sea
beyond. This is literally my first day of rest ; and I, as
you see, have not gone to church with all the others of my
party, but am here writing with hotel ink and a barbarous
pen.
We came last night from Freshwater, where we had
passed two happy days with Tennyson, — not at his house,
but mostly with him. He was very cordial, and very
amiable ; and gave up his whole time to us. At Farring-
ford your memory is fresh and fragrant.
Since landing in England I have not had one leisure
moment. I cannot describe to you the overwhelming
hospitality with which I have been greeted, and will not
attempt it. From Liverpool we went to the Lakes ; then
to Carlisle. Then I swooped down to Cambridge, where I
had a scarlet gown put upon me, and the students shouted
" Three cheers for the red man of the West." Then I
went to York, and down through Derbyshire to London,
where I stayed a fortnight and saw everybody, from the
Archbishop of Canterbury to .
I do not mean to palm this off upon you as a letter.
It is only a word to tell you where I am, and to thank
you for your and Fields's joint letter, duly received in
London.
I and my girls passed a pleasant Sunday at Gad's Hill.
To G. W. Greene.
Shanklin, Isle of Wight, July 21, 1868.
I write you this from a lovely little thatch-roofed inn,
all covered with ivy, and extremely desirable to the tired
American traveller. Opposite the door is a new fountain,
for which I have been requested to write an inscription ;
and our windows look down upon the quaintest little
village you ever saw. It is all like a scene on the stage.
110 LETTERS. [1868.
The landlady is a portly dame; the "head-waiter, a red-
faced Alsatian ; and when the chambermaid appears, you
expect she will sing instead of speak.
Such are our surroundings. We are all well, and all
hot, the thermometer being at 84° in the shade. To-mor-
row we take steamer from Dover to the Continent.
In England I have been most heartily welcomed ; and
in London almost killed with kindness. The number of
letters I have had to answer is incredible, which is the
reason I have not written you sooner. I have seen almost
everybody I most cared to see in England, and now am
quite ready for the Continent. I think of you often, and
often envy you your quiet study, while I am so banged
about in the heat.
To Charles Sumner.
Shanklin, July 2], 1868.
If you have been in Shanklin, and stopped at HoUier's,
you will know exactly where we are, and how we are.
Last night I slept for the first time under a roof of thatch.
It is very rural, and extremely pleasant. In fine, this is
one of the quietest and loveliest places in the kingdom;
and at last I get a moment of leisure to write to you,
which I have not had before.
And now I know hardly where to begin, or what to
say. London was very hot, and very hurried. I was
whirled about from morning to night, without rest. You
remember how it is, in the season. The Argylls were most
kind, in all ways. Erom the Duchess I received a very
cordial letter at Malvern, and I had my first London
breakfast with them. I need not say that of you they
retain the most affectionate remembrance.
I cannot tell you of all the people I lunched and dined
with. Lord Stanhope and all his family were particularly
kind. So were the Gladstones, — so was everybody.
1868.] . LETTERS. Ill
To J. T. Fields.
LuQANO, August 23, 1868.
I write you, much to my own surprise (not to mention
yours), from this lovely lake. We came here by one of
those lucky accidents of travel into which unseen postilions
drive us. We went to Hospenthal, meaning to cross the
Furca and go down the valley of the Ehone to Vevey.
But finding the road over the Furca hroken by rain and
river, we came over the St. Gothard, and through Bel-
linzona to this place, — a beautiful two days' drive through
the valley of the Ticino, the Val Tremola, Val Levantina,
Val d'Agno. Ah, me, how charming it was, and is, and
ever will be !
Delightful it is to be once more in Italy. I already
feel the fascination of the old Siren ; and if it were later
in the season I would not turn back. As it is, in a day or
two we are going over the Simplon to resume the broken
route of the Ehone valley. But it is really too pleasant
here to think of going anywhere else. You remember this
HStel du Pare, once a convent. The very chambermaids
look like nuns, or the ghosts of nuns. The lapping of
the water under the windows, and the view of lake and
mountains, will make the "charges moderate," whatever
they may be.
To make you more unhappy than you already are, I
must not forget to mention a dish of fresh figs beside the
inkstand as I write, and a boat with an avraing, full in
sight, waiting under a willow-tree to take us across the
lake. It is such a surprise to me to be here that I enjoy
it more than anything else we have seen. The old familiar
places saddened me.
And now for business. Please publish the New Eng-
land Tragedies on Saturday, October 10. That is the day
112 LETTERS. [1868.
I have agreed upon witli Eoutledge, with whom I have
made a very good arrangement. Taudhnitz will pubhsh
on the same day.
I have so many, many things to tell you that there
would be no end ; therefore there shall be no beginning.
Among them is Tennyson's reading ' Boadicea' to me at
midnight. A memorable night !
To J. T. Fields.
Vevet, September 5, 1868.
I do not like your idea of calling the Tragedies
" sketches." They are not sketches, and only seem so at
first because I have studiously left out all that could im-
pede the action. I have purposely made them simple and
direct. [John] Forster, with whom I left the proof-sheets
in London, to be made over to Eoutledge, writes as
follows : —
"Your Tragedies are very beautiful, — beauty every-
where subduing and chastening the sadness ; the pic-
tures of nature in delightful contrast to the sori'owful
and tragic violence of the laws ; truth and unaffectedness
everywhere. I hardly know which I like best ; but there
are things in ' Giles Corey ' that have a strange attractive-
ness for me." This to encourage you.
It is a novel and pleasant sensation to publish a book
and be so far away from all comment and criticism of
newspapers. As to anybody's "adapting'' these Trage-
dies for the stage, I do not like the idea of it at all. Pre-
vent this, if possible. I should, however, like to have the
opinion of some good actor — not a sensational actor — on
that point. I should like to have Booth look at them.
I wrote you last from Lugano. From that pleasant
place we went to one still pleasanter ; namely, Cadenabbia
on the Lake of Como. That was Italy ! and as lovely as
1868.] LETTERS. 113
Italy can be •when she tries. The climate is delicious ;
neither hot nor cold, but delightfully tempered with all
the elements necessary to make a climate perfect. Not
an insect to be seen or heard ! and a gentle breath of air
stirring up or down the lake all day long, — no more than
a large fan would make. No carriage-road leads to
Cadenabbia,^ — only a foot-way, along the borders of the
lake, between it and many villas. It is directly opposite
Bellagio, but is more beautiful and more desirable. It
was very difficult to get away. Going there for one night,
we stayed a week. From there we went to the Villa
d' Este, near Como ; thence across to Luino on Lago
Maggiore, and by steamer to Baveno. From Baveno to
Duomo d' Ossola ; and over the Simplon, through the val-
ley of the Ehone, to this place. You know the road, and
you know Vevey and the H6tel Monnet. But do you
know Cadenabbia?
After all, nothing quite equals the sea-breeze of Nahant
and Manchester in the heat of summer. This to comfort
you.
To J. T. Fields.
H6tel Windsor, Rue de Rivoli, Paris, October 18, 1868.
When in London, last week, I sent from the Langham
Hotel a box of books and papers to your care. I hope
they will pass the custom-house without duty, being only
presentation copies of books, and odds and ends which
accumulated on my hands in London and were left there.
Here in Paris, I have made a pretty large collection of
books.
I was three days in London.^ I saw Burlingame, who
was looking well, and took a quiet view of the opposition
* One has since been made from Menaggio.
^ He had run over to secure the copyright on the New England
Tragedies.
8
114 LETTERS. [1868.
to his mission manifested by the English papers. I saw
also Bandmann the tragedian, who expressed the liveliest
interest in what I told him of the Tragedies.
20th. Bandmann writes me a nice letter about the
Tragedies, but says they are not adapted to the stage. So
we wUl say no more about that for the present.
21st. I have left my letter open for a day, in the hope
of finding time to write more. But the busy idleness of
Paris is too much for me ; and " days are lost lamenting
o'er lost days." Yesterday I went to visit the old Eue du
Fouarre {Paradise x., note 137). When you come to
Paris you must not fail to see it, as it is one of the oldest
streets. I shall bring home a picture of it, as an illustra-
tion to our Landscape Dante.
I have seen Charles Brunei, the translator of 'Evan-
geline;'and Provost Paradol, a good writer on politics;
and Sainte-Beuve. My visit to him I shall give you ia
detail when we meet. Lamartine I have not seen. He
is ni, and failing fast, they say. My chief amusement ia
Paris is buying books and seeing some comedy of Moliere
at the Th4§,tre Eran^ais. We have very pleasant rooms,
looking upon the Tuileries gardens, — airy and sunny.
To J. R. Lowell.
Hotel dell' Arno, Florence, November 29, 1868.
My first act in Florence was to read your letter ; my
second is to answer it and return the petition signed. I
will write to Sumner to-day.
We arrived last night from Bologna, by the railway
over and through the Apennines, with forty-five tunnels.
A soft moonlight night, with glimpses of valley and river
and town ; very beautiful.
We are sumptuously lodged in a palace on the Lung'
Arno, within a stone's throw of the Ponte Vecchio. My
1869.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 115
bedroom, looking over the river, is thirty-three feet by
thirty, and high in proportion. I feel as if I were sleep-
ing in some public square, — that of the Gran Duca, for
instance, with the David and the Perseus looking at me.
I was there this morning before breakfast ; so that I fairly
woke up there, and rubbed my eyes and wondered if I
were awake or dreaming.
I congratulate you upon having passed the fever of a
Presidential election. But this was one in which I should
Hke to have had a hand. I am sorry not to have voted.
Appleton left us at Genoa, and went with Ernest to
Naples by sea, in search of the eruption of Vesuvius.
I hope they got there in season, but doubt it. We came
on by Piacenza, Parma, and Bologna. Ah, how I wish
we could have a Memorial Hall [in Cambridge] after the
model of the old University at Bologna ! If we built only
one side of the quadrangle at first, it would be enough
for our day. Do you remember it? A noble building,
with all its memorials of professors and students.
Journal.
Sorrento, March 25, 1869. Six sunless windows looking
out on a sunless sea, — such is our welcome at La Sirena.
I remember the old English song, —
" He that the Siren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide."
But the Siren sings sweetly at dinner. The dining-room
is like a vast bird-cage. There is a marvellous clock in it,
and the dinner excellent.
26th. We walk between the showers through the nar-
row streets of this picturesque old town. In the market-
place " Antonio della piccola Marina " smiles upon us and
offers his boat for Capri; and in competition Salvatore
suggests donkeys for Massa. The rain answers, No ! This
116 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1869.
is no weather for Capri or for Massa. In the evening, a
gloomy procession with torches, and a wonderful wooden
image of Christ carried on a bier. The Sorreutines are
very fond of this image. It was made by an unknown
stranger, who took refuge in the church, having commit-
ted some unknown crime. " No one," say the Sorrentines,
" not even the most learned lawyers in Naples, can teU of
what wood it is made."
27th. A brighter day. We change our quarters from
the Sirena to the Villa Nardi, which has ample garden-
terraces overlooking the sea, hundreds of feet plumb down.
Part of the morning we give to buying the beautiful wood-
work, the legni intarsi of Sorrento. In the evening read
in Miss Kavanagh's Two Sicilies, the description of her
stay in Sorrento.
29th. After a night of storm, a day of alternate cloud
and sunshine. The sea blue, and across the sea Vesuvius,
with his white plume of smoke flattened by the wind,
and behind Vesuvius the Appenines covered with snow.
" Even as the snow among the living rafters
Upon the hack of Italy congeals,
Blown on and drifted by Sclavonian winds.''
After breakfast made an excursion to Conti FontaneUa
on the mountain-ridge back of the town, — Ernest and I
on foot, and five of our ladies on five donkeys, named
respectively Monaca, Maccaroni, Masantonio, Cardinale,
and Secatella. From the summit a fine view. A good
three hours' walk.
30th. The terrace of the Villa Nardi, hanging over
the sea, is protected by a parapet breast-high, with fre-
quent embrasures or openings with iron railings, like
balconies. The parapet is adorned with painted busts
of terra cotta. A stairway of stone, partly under the ter-
race, partly on the face of the cliff, leads down to the
1869.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 117
beach ; and from windows in the covered gallery painted
terra-cotta heads lean out, as if enjoying the view and
conversing together. I should like to note down their
imaginary conversations.
31st A bright, beautiful day which we devote to the
Island of Capri, going merrily over in a six-oared galley
' under the guidance of " Antonio della piccola Marina."
The words of cheer uttered by the boatmen were alter-
nately Sant' Anton' ! and Maccaroni ! We went first to
the Grotta Azurra, the Blue Grotto, which was strange and
beautiful. Then we landed at the Marina, amid a noisy
crowd of men, women, and donkeys, and climbed the
steep hillside to the Albergo Tiberio, once a convent. We
lunched in the refectory, with its huge fireplace and Latin
inscription.
To Mr. and Mrs. Fields.
Villa Nahdi, Sorrento, Italy, April 2, 1869.
Mt deae Fields, or Mrs. Fields, — I do not know
whether I am writing to you or to your wife or your hus-
band, so iatermingled was your last letter, and so like one
of those Italian words that have a masculine singular and
a feminine plural. No matter ; whatever there is of busi-
ness in my answer goes by right to Mr. F., and all the rest
to Mrs. F. ; the whole to each and both.
It is something to have such a place to date from as
the Villa Nardi, Sorrento. Incessant oranges and lemons,
and also incessant rains, — like an endless shower of lemon-
ade ready iced by the snow on the Apennines. As you
have already been in Sorrento, and as I am sixty-two and
not sixteen, I will spare you all description of scenery.
Having one pleasant day this week, we went to Capri and
saw the Grotta Azwrra and the ruins of the Palace of
Tiberias, — the Salto di Timberio as the Capriotes call it,
118 JOUKNAL AND LETTERS. [1869.
instead of Tiberio. On the way home six lusty oarsmen
sang at the top of their voices the song 0 Pescator deW
onda; but they sang it 0 Pescator di Londra, — as if
invoking the ancient guild of the Fishmongers.
In Naples I saw the banished partner of the vanished
house of Ticknor and Fields. Banishment does not seem
to disagree with him; and he, no doubt, owes this to
receiving regularly the Atlantic Monthly. I have signed
the document you sent me, and will hand it to you when
we meet. You see there is no lost letter after aU. Alas,
for the lost GMteau Yquem ! Never mind, I will send
home some Capri almost as good.
I am very glad you are coming so soon. Do join us in
the north of Italy in May.
April 7. "Went to an orange orchard where we ate our
fill of oranges from the trees.
8th. In the afternoon went to see the orange and
lemon packing in an old dilapidated palace ; afterward to
see a bust of Tasso in the house of Signer Annuvola ; then
to what remains of the house in which he was bom. In
the garden is a laurel-tree.
10th. The Signor GargiuUo is all politeness and hos-
pitality. From the terrace of his house at Capo di Massa
is a splendid view of CaprL East and west of Sorrento
runs a deep ravine or burrone opening on the sea and
forming the natural fortification of the town. These are
crossed by bridges, and formerly there were lofty stone
gates ; but these, alas ! the Syndic of Sorrento in his rage
for modern improvements has taken down, to the great
loss of picturesqueness.
11th. This is the loveliest of the lovely days by the
sea. A white cloud hovers above Vesuvius, and the snow
on the Apennines gleams with a rosy hue. A thin, tender
1869.] JOURNAL. 119
haze lies along the horizon, a saU or two, here and there,
and dolphins disport themselves in the water. This is more
like the home of the Sirens than anything we have seen.
L6oking at this, we pass hours on the terrace, till idleness
becomes almost oppressive. Our stay at Sorrento is draw-
ing to a close. I am not very sorry. I do not like to
stay' so long in a place as to have regrets at leaving it.
And I am afraid that I am growing a httle weary of this
vita beata of the sea-side, with nothing to do. Or am I
hurried by what still remains to be done ?
12th. The weather has become enchanting. At sun-
rise this morning the lemon gardens about the house rang
with the song of the birds. As the Scotch poet Dunbar
says so poetically, —
" The sky was Ml of shoutings of the larks."
13th. This morning at eight we leave Sorrento for
Amalfi.
May 16. We reached Cadenabbia and this pleasant
Hotel Belle Vue yesterday afternoon. We find everything
as lovely as we left it in August. This is a silent, sunny
Sunday. Only the soft bells from the distant villages on
the lake chiming a while, then aU is still again, save the
birds singing in the woods ; as when the organ ceases, but
the choir sings on. It is Whitsunday. Before dinner, a
walk down the lake, past the Villa Somariva to Tremezzo.
After dinner a walk up the lake, half-way to Menaggio.
19th. The whole valley of the lake full of the sound
of beUs and the songs of birds. After breakfast, a row ;
then reading tUl dinner. Cadenabbia is a handful of
houses on the western shore, opposite Bellagio, its rival
as a place of summer resort. No carriage road leads to it,
and there is no sound of wheels or hoofs to break the
stillness. All round rise the beautiful green, folded hills.
120 JOURNAL AJID LETTERS. [1869.
In the morning the cool north wind blows down the lake ;
in the afternoon the " Brera " springs up from the south.^
20th. The girls go to row and I take a solitary walk
along the lake to Tremezzo and beyond, — mile after mile
of villas and villages, with gardens and flights of stone
steps leading down into the lake or up among the gardens.
A lovely walk for a cloudy day, having roses for sunshine.
In the afternoon we rowed across the lake to the village
and waterfall of Fiume-Latte, the Eiver of Milk, just
below Varenna. On the hillside above the village it hangs
like a fleece. We climbed to where it springs full-grown
out of a cavern in the rock.
To Mrs. J. T. Fidds.
Cadbnabbia, May 20, 1869.
I was delighted, yesterday, to receive your bit of a note
and to know that you are all safe in London. We find it
1 No sound of wheels or hoof-beats breaks
The silence of the summer day,
As by the loveliest of all lakes
I while the idle hours away.
By Somariva's garden gate
1 make the marble stairs my seat,
And hear the water, as I wait,
Lapping the steps beneath my feet.
The hills sweep upward from the shore.
With villas scattered one by one
Upon their wooded spurs, and lower,
Bellagio blazing in the sun.
And dimly seen, a tangled mass
Of walls and wood, of light and shade.
Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass
Varenna with its white cascade.
Cadenahhia. .
1869.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 121
hard to get out of Italy or any other country. There
never was a family that dragged along like this. Every
town seems a quicksand in which we sink to the knees.
On Saturday, or Monday, or some other day of the week,
or of next month, we are going to Venice, to sink in the
mud for an unknown length of time. Then to Verona,
Innsbruck, Nuremberg, Dresden, Paris. And there we
shall hope to meet you, as it may not be sooner.
22d. A thistle-down of cloud trailing along the moun-
tains. A visit to the silkworms. Then a row to the
beautiful ViUa Giulia on the Lecco branch of the lake.
Lovely terraces, full of roses of all kinds.
23d. The walk along the lake under the plane-trees
from the hotel to the Villa- Carlotta (or Somariva) ever
beautiful. A merle in a cage is singing gayly ; the voice
of the English clergyman comes up from the reading-room
below. All else is silent as silent as can be.
Farewell, Cadenabbia! Farewell the dancing boats
Pepina and Sylphide; farewell the jolly boatmen Fran-
cesco and Achille; farewell the venders of olive-wood
under the plane-trees, Marianna and pretty Lucia of
Tremezzo !
From Mrs. F (in England).
July 21, 1869.
Dear Mk. Longfellow, — At the risk of being thought
troublesome, I venture to forward a note from E. J. Eeed,
C. B., the Chief Constructor to our Navy, and one of the
greatest ship-builders the world ever produced, in which
he speaks most highly of your poem, 'The Building of
the Ship.'
122 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1869.
As Apelles liked the sandal-maker's criticism on the
sandal of one of his figures, so you may approve of Mr.
Eeed's testimony in favor of the truth of your poem.
[From Mr. Eeed's Note.]
Admikalty, July 20.
I should have been so pleased to meet, and pay my
profound respects to, the author of the finest poem on
ship-buHding that ever was, or probably ever will be,
written, — a poem which I often read with the truest
pleasure.
August 31. Arrived in New York from Liverpool.
September 1. Eeached Cambridge at sunset.
15th. In town on business; boxes and custom-house
duties. I mean to become a free-trader as soon as
possible.
18th. At the custom-house for a long while. Healy's
picture of Liszt has arrived. The Collector gives a free
pass for it, and for my books (as professional).
To G. W. Curtis.
September 19, 1869.
I thank you most heartily for your pleasant words of
welcome home. As we steamed up the beautiful harbor
of New York and passed your green island, I tried to
catch a glimpse of your roof and chimneys; but I saw
only those of a neighbor of yours, who stood at my side
on deck and pointed them out to me in triumph. I
warmed towards him when he said that he knew you, and
sent you a message by him as he departed in the tug of
the Port physician.
And so, here we are again safe and sound in the Craigie
House, which had begun to grow vapory and hazy in the
n
so
>
2
5
X
o
1869.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 123
splendors of great towns across tlie sea. It is pleasant to
get back to it, and yet sad. I do not know whether to
laugh or cry.
T. came back with us ; but is rather restless, I think.
October 2. In the afternoon Greene departs for home,
and I drive over to Brookline to meet Sir Henry Holland
at dinner, at Mr. Winthrop's. Sir Henry is Dr. Holland.
He said he had known Wordsworth, Byron, Moore, Cole-
ridge, and Campbell, as their medical attendant. A curious
experience. He said also that he attended Mme. D'Arblay
in the last years of her life ; that she had a great aversion
to water, and had not washed for fifteen years.
7th. Full of cares of many kinds, and memories of the
past ; but I wiU not record them.
8th. The world without is splendid in its autumnal
glories. It is darker within. To-day has been a day of
many vexations ; but they will soon be forgotten. Went
to town. Saw Sumner, busy on his lecture, "Caste."
Called on Mr. Ticknor, who is very cordial and kind.
From B. W. Emerson.
Concord, October 10, 1869.
My dear Longfellow, — First, I rejoice that you are
safe at home ; and, as all mankind know, fuU of happy
experiences, of which I wished to gather some scraps at
the Club of Saturday. To my dismay, at midnight I dis-
covered that I had utterly forgotten the existence of the
Club. Yesterday I met Appleton, who ludicrously con-
soled me by affirming that yourself, and himself, had
made the same slip. I entreat you not to fail on the
thirtieth of October.
124 LETTERS. [1869.
Next, I have to thank you for your punctual remem-
brance of Admiral Brown's commission, — though a slight
failure of memory here would perhaps cost fewer sighs
than the alarming ones above-mentioned.
With aU kind regards,
E. W. Emerson.
To Robert Ferguson.
October 15, 1869.
It is high time that I gave you tidings of Craigie House
and its inhabitants. I should have done so sooner but for
all kinds of interruptions and occupations. Apenas llego,
cuando llego- d penas} says some forlorn punster in some
Spanish play ; and it is pretty true of every one who
has been away from home for a year and a day, as we
have.
Alas for the Lagrima ! When Scala bottled it, he cast
an Evil Eye upon it, because I did not buy it of him.
Owing to this and to bad corks, it came to grief and is as
sour as the Saturday Eeview. I have also three paintings
soaked in bilge-water; but, to make amends, my books
have thus far come safe and dry. The beautiful and valu-
able ones which you gave me adorn my study table, and
are a constant reminder of you and all your kindness.^
* Hardly do I come back when I come back to hardships.
^ Among these books was a copy of the first edition of the Sibyl-
line Leaves, — Coleridge's own copy, with notes in his handwriting.
' The Ancient Mariner ' in this volume contains the following verse,
noted in the margin — " to be struck out, S. T. C."
"A gust of wind sterte up behind
And whistled through his bones ;
Through the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth.
Half whistles and half groans."
It follows the verse beginning " The naked hulk alongside came."
Mr. Longfellow's study-table already held an inkstand which had
1869.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 125
My girls are well and happy. I think they miss now
and then the excitement of travel ; and who does not ?
Even the ttndersigned pleads guilty to an occasional sigh
for the far away.
17th. I am as good as ever at forgetting my journal.
But who wants to be a Crabbe Eobinson ? What have I
done the past week ? Finished the revision of the Divine
Comedy for a new edition, and translated a lyric of Mer-
cantini, La Spigolatrice di Sapri} Also have unpacked
endless boxes, attended a meeting of the Historical Society,
and run to and fro about the Brighton meadows. This
evening I read John Neal's autobiography, — a curious
book, interesting to me from personal recollections.
18th. The Brighton meadows are as good as saved for
the University, though not yet bought. Got Parsons the
carpenter to make book-shelves in the attic. Talked with
Parsons the Professor about 's strange will. T. at
dinner.
Novemher 1. Got out my Bodonis from their box.^
All in good order.
6th. Mr. Clarke at dinner, — "Conversation Clarke,"
he is sometimes called, from his powers in that way. In
belonged to Coleridge, a gift from Mr. S. C. Hall, who also gave In'm
the inkstand which had belonged to George Crabbe and afterward to
Thomas Moore. Showing the Coleridge inkstand to a rustic visitor
one day, Mr. Longfellow said "Perhaps the 'Ancient Mariner' was
written from this." The stranger looked blank for a moment and
then said, "And the ' Old Oaken Bucket,' who done that ? "
1 'The Gleaner of Sapri.'
" They were three hundred, they were young and strong.
And they are dead ! "
Poets and Poetry of Europe, 1871 ; p. 886.
* Some fine vellum-bound folios from the famous press in Parma.
126 JOUENAL AND LETTERS. [1869.
the evening read II Podere, of Tansillo, — a very clever, if
not very poetic, poem.
20th. Dined with Mr. Winthrop, to meef Pke Hya-
cinthe, the preacher of Notre Dame, Paris. I had seen
him in Paris, in his Carmelite dress. He has now laid it
aside, being excommunicated, and wears only the ;petit
collet. A quiet, pleasant man, with soft, low voice.
22d. Pere Hyacinthe dined with us quietly. We had
Agassiz, T., and S. to meet him.^
To J. T. Fields.
November 30, 1869.
Have the goodness to look over this poem, for the sake
of the lady who wrote it. Like it, if possible, and keep it.
If impossible, send it back to me by Sawin, and I will do
my best to console her.
Hoping that you have accepted Miss B 's lines, I
remain yours truly (otherwise quite the reverse).
P. S. I enclose a note for Aldrich. What a clever
story he has written !
Decemier 1. December begins with a warm, spring-
like day. There is no snow, and there are buds on the
honeysuckles. Wasted the day in arranging book-cases.
4th. Dined with T., to meet George Curtis ; the other
guests, Agassiz, Lowell, and Dana. Afterwards, late at
night, I read Lowell's new poem, 'The Cathedral.' It is
very beautiful, and more than that.
5th. Eead again ' The Cathedral,' and Hke it better
even than at first.
1 M. Loyson afterward wrote to his host, «Je garde la noble
devise qiie vous m' avez fait 1' honneur de me donner :
Liberty va cercando, ch' fe si cara,
Come sa chi per lei vita rifiuta."
1869.] JOURNAL. 127
7th. Snowing still. We are beleaguered by winter.
I feel the cold very much, in contrast with last year in
Eome.
8th. Bright and cold. But why keep a journal of the
weather 1 It is very lonely here in Cambridge. Nothing
seems to move.
17th. All the morning at the custom-house, plagued
with red tape. If I went in a Protectionist, I came out a
Free-trader.
An old Italian woman came here to-day and brought
me a Christmas-tree as a present ; a Christmas-tree f uU
of little wax birds, — red, green, and white. She said it
was made by her son, who " has a great talent for music."
I asked her if he played any instrument. " Oh, yes,"
she said ; " he goes round with a hand-organ and a little
monkey."
CHAPTER VIII.
JOUENAL AND LETTERS.
1870.
January 1. A lovely morning ; tte warm sun shining
through a soft haze. As heautiful as Italy.
2d. A pouring rain, but not cold; reminding one of
Kome and Naples. I stay at home and read, and feel pro-
tected from external annoyances.
5th. All the morning interrupted by callers. The
door-bell ringing incessantly.
6tli. Flying cloud-rack. At two o'clock I saw what I
never saw before, - — a rainbow above the sun, like a gar-
land hung in the sky, not like the arch of a bridge.
9th. A letter from Sam Ward, with some of his clever
French poems.
10th. "Walked. Eead Crabbe Eobinson, and Grimm's
Correspondence. A young poet called.
13th. Passed the day in putting up books and pic-
tures. Where I shall find room for them all I really do
not know ; but they cannot be left piled upon the floor.
14th. Called upon Palfrey, and Agassiz, who has had
for a week no return of his malady. Palfrey dined with
me.
17th. Have been reading lately some of Victor Hugo's
dramas. Great power of all kinds, and great extrava-
gance. Perhaps exaggeration is necessary for the stage ;
I am inclined to think it is. A play, like a bust or statue
destined for a large room, must be a little larger than life.
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 129
24tli. Go to the Harvard Musical Association supper,
and carry as a present to their library a Canon Missce Fon-
tificalis, printed in 1725.
To Charles Sumner.
January 25, 1870.
My opinion very decidedly is, that the passage from
Leibnitz should stand on the title-page. It is dignified
and appropriate. For the other motto there seems to be
no place, and therefore I should omit it.
I have just been looking over the Table of Contents in
the three volumes of your first edition : each title a round
in the ladder by which you mounted, and reaching from
1845 to 1855. What a noble decade, and what a noble
record ! I say the " rounds of a ladder ; " let me rather say
steps hewn in the rock, one after the other, as you toiled
upward.
This is a dark, rainy day, and to-night T. gives a ball
at Papanti's. I shall go, but you can imagine with what
heart. The waters of Lethe are a fable; there is no
nepenthe.
To Charles Sumner.
January 27, 1870.
Never having dealt with any other figures than figures
of speech ; never having known the difference between a
bank-note and a greenback ; never having suspected that
there was any difference between them, — you can imagine
with what a dark-lantern I have read your speech on the
Eefunding and Consolidation of the National Debt.
I am as capable of forming an idea of it as a gentleman
was the other day of estimating a lovely little Albani's
" Europa " which I showed him, when he said, "A chromo-
lithograph, I presume.''
However, I have faith in you ; and faith is " the evi-
dence of things unseen," — though I think that before
9
130 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
having it, one must have seen something or other which
inspires it. This is just my case. Having known you so
wise and far-seeing in other matters, I beheve you to be
in this. And I am confirmed in my belief by a Boston
merchant who was here a few days ago, and desired me
to say to you how much he admired this speech, and how
entirely he agreed with it.
31st. Breakfasted at six. Walked to the Square
with Greene, on his way to Providence. A calm, peace-
ful, overclouded, winter day. In the evening began a
story in verse, ' The Bell of Atri,' for a second day of the
Wayside Inn.
February 21. I like all kinds of weather, except cold
weather.
22d. A day of disagreeable sensations, Washington's
birthday though it be. A northwest wind blowing, and
dust flying. A northwest newspaper, in which I have
been " interviewed," and private conversation reported to
the public. The income-tax bill presented, and hours
occupied in going over my accounts, to have everythmg
right.
25th. Lunched with Fields, to meet Fechter, the trage-
dian, — an agreeable man, and not at all stagey.
To James B. Lowell.
N'oubliez pas demain,
A une heure et demie,
Je vous en prie ;
Huitres et vin du Ehin,
Salad e de homard,
Volnay et venaison,
Don, Don,
N'amvez pas trop tard !
Ce Lundi, 28 Fdvrier, 1870-
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 131
March 1. Fechter comes to lunch with me. Fields,
Lowell, and Henry James the other guests. Fechter is
very amiable and natural, and has a good deal to say.
2d. Call from young , who has sent me some verses
of no particular merit. I like him much better than his
poems. I advised him not to think of poetry as a pro-
fession, as he evidently wanted my opinion on that point
An interesting youth, with a clear, frank look in his eyes.
3d. Saw Fechter's Hamlet. Very unconventional, —
Hamlet in a flaxen wig. It is pleasant to see anything
so like nature on the stage ; not the everlasting mouthing
and ranting.
5th. Here I am, scribbling, and reading Hans Ander-
sen's Wonder Stories, and wondering whether I shall ever
write anything more.
To Charles Sumner.
[With a newspaper scrap : " Fechter dined with Longfellow yesterday."]
March 12, 1870.
We live in nests, and not in houses. The penny-a-liner,
the DiaUe Boiteux of the Press, has unroofed all our habi-
tations. Shall Fechter dine with Longfellow on Tuesday,
and shall it be a secret in Chicago on Wednesday ? No !
let it be proclaimed by telegraph, —
" And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,
' Now the King drinks to Hamlet.' "
Owen was here all yesterday forenoon, and we thor-
oughly searched the five great folios of the Florentine
Museum, looking among the antique gems for something
fitting to adorn the cover of your works. The nearest was
not a gem, but an initial letter, — a female figure holding
132 JOTJRNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
an olive-branch. There is another with a torch. Which
do you prefer ? I prefer the torch. J. 0. has more time
to spare than anybody I ever knew. His day has twenty-
six hours in it.
How are you in body and mind ? Well, I hope ; work-
ing hard, I know.
Agassiz is no better, though he goes out. He sees no
one.
To CJiarles Sumner.
March 17, 1870.
I do not hear from you, but I hear of you. One return-
ing traveller reports that you are the leader of the Senate,
and have more influence than any man there. Another
reports that you have the best cook in Washington ! The
view becomes stereoscopic. Being taken from two points
of sight, it rounds and completes the portrait.
A pretty dull winter this has been in Cambridge. I
see no one, or hardly any one but my own household.
Agassiz is no better. For nearly three months now he
has been disabled ; receives no visits ; cannot read or write
a letter. I greatly fear he will never be himself again ;
never the old strength and the old power of work. Cogs-
well seldom goes out of the house ; Palfrey is far away ;
Lowell is busy. Not a very lively picture. But it is in-
credible how much one can do without, in this world.
Have you seen Bryant's Homer, or Emerson's new book,
or Lowell's ? All good reading.
March 19.
lo dico seguitando, that is, continuing my letter of yes-
terday, that Winter has come back upon us like Napoleon
from Elba ; but I hope not for a hundred days. We are
beleaguered by snow-storms and shut up in our castles.
You remember what Cambridge is in such weather.
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 133
Writing from America, De Tocqueville says in one of
his letters, " On jouit ici du plus p41e bonheur qu'on puisse
imaginer." I liave been trying to-day to heighten the
color of my pale happiness by reading Michelet's Pr6cis
de I'Histoire de France, a compendium of his large work,
and as dry as the pressed meats put up for the French
army. One sentence made me think of you. " Les Eo-
mains virent avec honte et douleur des s^nateurs gaulois
si^geant entre Cicdron et Brutus." For Gaulois read Illi-
nois, and I fancy you have sometimes felt as the Eomans
did.
I have also been trying to follow Dante in his exUe, —
a hopeless task. One gets easily as far as Arezzo ; then
all is confusion as to dates.
18th. A gentleman in Maine wants me to read and
criticise " an Epic Poem," which he has written on the
Creation, " the six days' work," which, he says, is " done up
in about six hundred lines."
21st. Go to the Library with Greene, through mud and
mire. Then home, and read to him Miss Horner's Life
and Times of Giusti, the Tuscan poet. He departs home-
ward, and I give the rest of the afternoon to Miss Froth-
ingham's translation of Hermann und Dorothea.
29th. For the last few days I have read nothing but
the Comedies of Plautus, translated by Thornton. Very
interesting reading. This morning Prior's Danish Ballads
fell in my way, and the misty world of the North, weird
and wonderful, rose before me in place of the Mediterranean
shore.
April 1. I have been reading, through the past week,
nearly all of Plautus, and am rather tired of pimps, para-
sites, and debauchery in general What a state of society
he depicts !
134 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
3d. A stormy Sunday. Keep in doors mostly ; getting,
for air and exercise, only a tramp on the veranda. Eead
in the old monkish story-book, the Gesta Eomanorum.
5th. In the evening read ' The Legend of Jubal,' by
Mrs. Lewes, — a poem of a good deal of power, but in parts
rather confused, as the " new style " poetry often is to me.
6th. Tom Taylor's Ballads and Songs of Brittany, — a
charming book.
To J. T. Fields.
April 20, 1870.
Some English poet has said or sung, —
" At the close of the day, when the hamlet ia still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove."
I wish Hamlet would be still ! I wish I could prove the
sweets of forgetfulness ! I wish Fechter would depart
into infinite space, and " leave, oh, leave me to repose ! "
When will this disturbing star disappear, and suffer the
domestic planetary system to move on in its ordinary
course, and keep time with the old clock in the corner ?
I return the volume you sent with many thanks for
your kindness. I found in it what I wanted. I never
thought that I should come back to this kind of work.^
It transports me to my happiest years, and the contrast
is too painful to think of.
May 1. For the last week or two I have been at work
upon a Supplement to the Poets and Poetry of Europe,
and have made several translations for it, — such as ' Ee-
morse,' from Platen, ' The Angel and Child,' from Eeboul,
' Consolation,' from Malherbe.
^ He was engaged upon a new edition of the Poets and Poetry of
Europe. The original edition was prepared just after his marriage,
in 1843.
1870.] JOURNAL. 135
25th. This has been to me a day of indescribable men-
tal suffering. I have given great pain to others ; but I
could not do otherwise and be true to myself. God grant
it may be for the best !
June 3. Read Disraeli's new novel, Lothair. It is
decidedly clever, and refreshing in its coolness after the
hot breath of most modern novels. Still the old love of
dukes and duchesses, and the light touch as of old.
5th. Read Hawthorne's English Notebooks. Charm-
ingly written. If he had prepared them for printing, they
could hardly have been better.
6th. Howells's lecture on Modem Italian Poets. In
the evening read an English version of Mistral's Proven-
cal poem Mireio, — very striking, and full of strong, sim-
ple poetry ; but too tragic, and encumbered with irrelevant
materials which destroy its simplicity as a tale.
14th. Heard of the sudden death of Charles Dickens.
I can think of nothing else, but see him lying there dead
in his house at Gad's Hill.
16th. Went with President Eliot to look at marsh-
land on Mount Auburn Street ; then called on Professor
Fisher of Yale ; and in the afternoon heard him lecture
on the various philosophic views of. the existence of
evil in the world, — the Stoic, the Mediaeval, and the
Modem.
July 3. It IS as much trouble to go to Nahant as to
Europe. What an absurdity to break up one's life into
fragments in this way !
4th. Execute the deed of the Brighton Meadows for
the College. Write to the President and Fellows.^
1 Receiving this acknowledgment : " The President and Fellows
of Harvard College thank jou very heartily for the valuable gift of
land in Brighton which they have received from you and other
friends of the College. They have observed how large ia the share
which you and your family have in the subscription, and they know
136 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
lOth. NaJiant. In the new church, which is quaint
and vniage-like. Mr. Morison preaches, — mild, and yet
fervent.
To G. W. Greme.
Nahant, July 10, 1870.
I am glad you have finished your Siege of Ninety-Six,
and that you can perfume its pages with a remembrance
of Alba Longa. Bitter-sweet memories ! They have a
taste of the rind of life in them, but nevertheless are
sweet with the sweetness of youth.
We have been here now nearly a week. The air is
delightful, and most things unchanged;
The same wind blowing,
The same sea flowing ;
Only the beholder
Grown three years older.
We have a new church and a new steamboat-landing, and
little else that is not as old as the oldest inhabitant.
I wish this faineant Congress would rise, and let Sum-
ner loose. I agree with him about the Chinese, and about
striking the word white out of every law of the land. Of
course you do.
To Charles Sumner.
Nahant, July 18, 1870.
I have just received your letter, and deplore with you
the removal of Motley .^ It is a gross insult to him, and
a very disreputable act to all concerned in it. And now,
it seems, the office is to go a-begging, like the Spanish
that they are indebted exclusively to your exertions for this large
and promising addition to their territory." There were some seventy
acres.
1 Mr. Lothrop Motley had just been recalled from the English
Mission.
1870.] LETTERS. 137
throne, and finally we shall have some sent out to
disgrace us !
I am glad you are released, and hope that as soon as
possible you will come to me. I have a room for you,
and all things necessary for your comfort in a small way ;
and in a large way, gladness to see you. I never knew
Nahant in finer flavor than this year. It is a delight to
look at the sea ; and as for the air, none is so good for
me. Thalatta! Thalatta !
And then to think of the daily chowder! Why, no
bouillabaisse of Aries or Marseilles can compare with it !
So make all the speed you can, and make glad my heart.
To J. T. Fields.
Nahant, July 29, 1870.
You see by the spreading of the ink that this is a soft,
misty day. Life by the seaside becomes a dream. I only
dream that I am writing to you to say that I shall not be
able to go to town to-morrow for the Club dinner, as Mr.
C. A. L., of the yacht " Dauntless," is expected here, and
I cannot be absent on such an occasion.
I have dreamed also several times that you ' came here
to dine ; but I believe we have only made believe eat and
drink together, like the Barmecide and the barber's sixth
brother, and that the real dinner is yet to come. I have
dreamed, moreover, that I went to Portland last week, and
on arriving walked two miles into the country after sun-
set, and came to a cottage^ and saw through the open
door Perabo sitting at a pianoforte, playing to a company
of girls ; that the next day we went down the harbor in a
vessel belonging to the Coast Survey ; that I became so
nautical that, on our safe return to port, I bought a ba-
rometer and a chronometer, and that the merchant threw
1 His brother Alexander's, at Highfield, in Westbrook.
138 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
into the bargain a Nautical Almanac, from which I learned
that —
" A mackerel sky and mares' tails
Make taU ships carry low sails.''
Then I dreamed about coming back to Nahant ; and that
the weather was very hot (which I knew could not pos-
sibly be true, because I was by the seaside !) ; and that I
went to a "spiritual seance," and saw the "medium"
elongated, — which I knew was true, because he was lift-
ing his shoulders and standing on his toes. He said he
felt his ribs drawn apart. I asked him how it was with
his back-bone and spinal marrow. He modestly an-
swered that he did not know; he had not thought of
that. He was pleased at being called Count Cagliostro ;
and many in the audience considered the performance
very wonderful. But nothing seems strange in a dream.
And now I dream that I am sitting in an upper room
by an open window, and have just received a poem called
' Eamon's Bride ' from a young lady in New South Wales,
and that you are going to publish it in the Atlantic, and
send the authoress an independent fortune !
Yours always, dreaming or waking.
30th. A whole fortnight of idleness. Eead Curtis's
Nile-Notes, and the Arabian Nights, and the newspapers.
C. is in New York, just from England in the yacht
" Dauntless," — beaten by the English yacht " Cambria " one
hour and a few minutes only, in a race of three thousand
miles !
August 1. Sumner lying all the morning in a haili-
mock reading Lothair. Dine with him and T. at Mr.
George James's.
There is nothing more disagreeable than long-continued
and enforced idleness. That is the only drawback of
1870.] JOUKNAL AND LETTERS. 139
Nahant in summer. One becomes too listless and lazy,
and, though free to come and go, feels a sense of impris-
onment. All summer I have done nothing but lounge
and read. I have read Wilhelm Meister, and Dino Com-
pagni's Gronica di Firenze, and one volume of Lecky, and
a good deal of Sainte-Beuve's Gauseries de Lundi. I have
thought of translating Dino Compagni, by way of illus-
tration to the Divina Gommedia ; but it will be better to
make extracts only.
From Samuel Ward.
Basle, Switzerland, August 26, 1870.
My dear Heineich von Ofterdingen, — When I
passed through Andernach last Sunday, on my way hither,
dear Paul Flemming rose up before me as he used to
emerge from his bath and bedroom on those blessed
Sunday mornings of yore, and after lighting his spirit-
lamp under the Mocha, to walk up to the standing-desk
near the window and sew an English button upon Ali-
ghieri's tattered gabardine.^ I then vowed that I would,
in Europe as in Nicaragua, devote the first spare half-
hour to you. For you are more or less a child of mine, —
at least I have been the family physician of some of your
bairns ; notably ' The Skeleton in Armor,' ' The Children
of the Lord's Supper,' ' The Two Locks of Hair,' and
Hyperion. To-morrow I start for Schaffhausen, thence
to Zurich, and so on through all the mazes of that dance,
with mountains and glaciers for partners, which seems
by foretaste worthy to be called the " Swiss Lancers."
I got here last evening, and felt like a grand seigneur
1 In 1843 Mr. Longfe]low translated some portions of the Divina
Gommedia, in the fashion here noted, while his morning coifee was
making.
140 LETTERS. [1870.
when the blue-and-gold-hedizened chasseur of the Trois
Couronnes ushered me up the tiled steps, on the lowest
of which " Salve ! " is inscribed in mosaics. I don't know
whether it is Paul Flemming or Vivian Grey who calls
the Aar " arrowy ; " but the epithet is certainly deserved
by the rushing river, which, flowing through this bridge,
" Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis sevum."
The view from the dining-room terrace at night-fall, with
the swift intermingling and passing " of woven paces and
of waving hands," reminded me of the lovely bridge at
Lima, which I often saw at the same semi-nebulous hour,
and was more moved by than by any scene I had then
known, — in 1849. This morning at six, as I was dream-
ing " memories of the Middle Ages," a blast of trumpets
awoke me, and I rushed to the window and beheld a troop
of cavalry majestically crossing the bridge. The morning
sun flashed upon their morions, and I was transported at
least two centuries back, and felt that glorious chair de
poule which in me is inseparable from genuine emotion.
I pulled my right ear and asked myself : " Am I that same
poor old weather-beaten Bohemian who four weeks ago
was perspiring his sixth summer in Washington, and who
am here realizing at fifty-six my boyish dream of seeing
Switzerland ?"...! saw at Liverpool a glorious life-sized
portrait of you in a picture-dealer's window. I mean to
buy it if it is there when I return in November. And
now, while the majestic river is passing the lights of
Kleiner Basel, opposite my window, I will say good-night
in a scene so suggestive of our lives from 1836 to 1843.
I send you a leaf from the grave of Charras which I
plucked this afternoon in the cemetery where a bronze
bas-rehef perpetuates in the wall a typical Garibaldian
head. Poor France ! Wretched Napoleon ! Euthless
Bismarck !
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 141
September 1. Mr. Bryce and Mr. Dicey, English law-
yers with letters from Professor Nichol, pass the day
with us.
5th. C. and W. set sail in the "Wyvern" for a run
down the coast. Go to town. News of the surrender of
Napoleon and his army to the Prussians. Mrs. Hamil-
ton reads me some part of her novel, Woven of Many
Threads.
7th. The Eepublic proclaimed in France !
8th. Another perfect autumn day. It is enough to
sit stiU and look at it and admire its beauty, and not
attempt to describe it, even in verse.
To a E. Norton {in Italy).
Nahant, September 8, 1870.
You will see by the date of this that we are still linger-
ing by the sea-side. The autumnal weather is in all its
splendor. You cannot beat us there, though I confess
that the Villa Spanocchi is larger than the Wetmore
Cottage. So far as I am personally concerned, I am satis-
fied that I made a great mistake in not staying longer
in Europe. You were wiser, and have your reward. I am
still hungry for more. Enough is decidedly not as good
as a feast. No one is ever satisfied till he gets too much.
Your opinion of France and Prussia is also mine and
that of most Americans. Now that the Empire is no
more, let there be war no more, and Vive la Bepuhlique !
for, as Emerson sings, " God said, I am tired of kings."
Agassiz is still among the White Mountains. I hear
reports of his being better, but none of his being well.
I am afraid, I am afraid ! What Lowell is doing, I do not
know. He has had Tom Hughes with him; but I did
not succeed in getting them here to dine, and have not
seen the "Eugby boy." The University is flourishing
142 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
under its young President to one's heart's content. A
few of us have just presented [to it] seventy acres of the
Brighton meadows, with your namesake flowing through
it and making its favorite flourish of the letter S. During
the progress of this transaction I was assailed in the
Legislature by an irate member, who accused me of a plot
to buy up lands adjoining the projected Park, to sell to
the city at great advance ! So I was ranked among the
speculators ! My vulnerable point was not this, but
another; namely, that I wanted to keep the land open
in front of my own house. It is as good as five hundred
dollars in your pocket that you were not here ; for you
would have been unable to resist my blandishments.
I wish we had Euskin here to lecture on art, and stir
people up a little upon the subject. The last time I
saw him was at Verona, perched upon a ladder, copying
some detail of the tomb of Can Grande over the church
door; thus representing the coat-of-arms of the Scala
family in his own person. I admired his enthusiasm and
singleness of purpose. How good his description of the
"democratic fly" in his last book! Yet he belongs to
the working-class, if ever man did. Appleton is well
and thriving. He has to-day taken all my girls and boys
in the "Alice" to the yacht-races at Swampscott. We
are not without our amusements also!
12th. T. went in his yacht to dine at Shirley Point.
I declined, not liking raw birds, which is the epicurean
fashion of eating them, — an abominable fashion, it seems
to me.
15th. Despatch boxes and trunks by land, and come
home in the " Alice," — A most pleasant sail up the harbor,
and the Craigie House charming.
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 143
To G. W. Greene.
September 16, 1870.
We returned yesterday from Nahant all in good con-
dition, sailing up the harbor in a yacht in the lovely
September day. Entering the old house again was like
coming back from Europe. I had a kind of dazed feeling,
a kind of famiLiar, unfamiliar sense of place. But in the
evening one of my most intimate bores came ' in, saying,
" I did not know that you had got back, but thought I
would come up and see." So he came up and saw, and —
I knew that I was in Cambridge.
This fact was still further confirmed to-day ; for imme-
diately after breakfast came one of my crazy women, and
I had no sooner disposed of her than there appeared
another bore, who occasionally frequents these forests, —
huge, Hyrcanian, hopeless ! There can be no doubt of
the fact, I am certainly in Cambridge.
Come to me as soon as you can, and we will talk over
your summer's work and my summer's idleness, and pass
some Autumnal Hours a good deal more agreeable than
Drake's.
While I was writing the last line an Irishwoman called
with a petition to the Governor to pardon her son, in
prison for theft, " that he may become what he is capable
of being, — an honor to his family and the community."
17th. In town on business. See at Doll's some good
pictures, — a Farm by Daubigny, and Beech-trees at Font-
ainebleau by Diaz.
18th. No news but war news. The horrible war in
France going on. The Prussians closing in on Paris.
21st. Greene arrives, looking well after his summer
work. He has finished the Biography of General Greene,
and is now free.
144 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
25th. A young man from Horton, the Grand Pr^ of
Acadie, comes to see me. He is a printer, and is going
back to his province to be editor of " Pancuramata," —
whatever that may mean, — a weekly newspaper.
28th. Greene finishes reading to me his Biography [of
General Greene], which is more than a biography, — a
noble historical work.
30th. Heard the introductory lecture of Professor
Sophocles on "Pagan Views of the Christians." In the
College yard met Dr. Hoppin, with the Eev. Edward
Henry Bickersteth and his son, of Pembroke College,
Cambridge, England. Brought them home to lunch.
October 3. Hear Lowell's introductory on Old French
Poets, and William Everett's on Virgil.
6th. Laying of the corner-st.one of Memorial Hall.^
Dine with Lowell, to meet Mr. Tom Hughes, of Rugby
memory.
To H. G. Lulcens.
Octolier 6, 1870.
I hope you will pardon my long delay in answering
yours of August 4th, and thanking you for the handsome
volume that came with it.^ My excuse is that I was
absent from Cambridge when the parcel came, and did
not return until a few days ago.
I wish I could sympathize more fully than I do with
this kind of writing, and consequently enjoy it more ; but
I confess that I have rather a dislike to it. A parody or
travesty of a poem is apt to throw an air of ridicule about
the original, though made with no such intention, and
on that account they are unpleasant to me, however well
1 A Memorial to the students who had died in the War for the
Union. Under the same roof are the academic theatre and the
dining-hall.
* Containing a travesty of Burger's Lenore.
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 145
they may be done. In fact, the better they are done, the
worse they are in their effects ; for one cannot get rid of
them, but ever after sees them making faces behind the
original.
Excuse this dissertation, and accept my thanks all the
same.
8th. Thomas's concert. Miss Anna Mehlig plays beau-
tifully on the pianoforte. Zerdahelyi introduces me to
her.
11th. In the evening go to town to hear Mr. Hughes
in the Music Hall, — " John to Jonathan ; " a very good,
straightforward description of England's position during
our Civil War, from the English point of view. After the
lecture, a supper at Eields's.
13th. At luncheon Mr. W., a London barrister, and
his son from Oxford; also Mr. Hughes. Took them to
see the College Library ; then to Everett's lecture on Vir-
gil, — a capital lecture on the various editions ; and
brought them home to dine.
14th. Dined at the Somerset Club to meet Mr. Mun-
della, Member of Parliament.
18th. Eeading a Swedish novel, Ben Ratte, by Marie
Schwartz. Very clever, with all the minuteness of detail
which the Northern novelists delight in.
25th. Went to Plymouth with Judge Eussel, Fields,
and Greene. Saw the Plymouth Eock, and drew the
sword of Miles Standish, and read the old Eecords. Then
drove through the Plymouth woods of oak to Billington
Sea, — a beautiful drive, and along the valley by the brook.
Plymouth is a charming town, with over two hundred
little lakes in it. From the Burial Hill is a charming
view, — westward across a rolling country red with oak-
leaves, and eastward over the harbor, the sandy head-
lands, and the sea. On our way back we had all kinds
146 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
of adventures, being detained by a scbooner that stuck in
the drawbridge at Neponset and blocked all passage. We
had a long foot-tramp over unknown roads in the night,
and did not reach home till eleven.
November 4. In the evening at a political caucus ; the
only one I ever attended, I believe. I did not like it.
9th. Lunched with Fields to meet the beautiful Nils-
son, who is as charming in her manners as in her voice.
Another "Swedish nightingale," Jenny Lind beiug the
first.
10th. Professor Washburn's funeral at the Shepard
Church, with three clergymen of three different sects
officiating, — a Unitarian, a Congregationalist, and a
Baptist.
13th. Went to Mount Auburn and found it desolated
and ruined; trees cut down, irregularities levelled, and
nothing to be seen but granite, granite, granite. It is
shocking! Sat an hour with Lowell. We talked over
the proposed widening of Brattle Street, which will also
be the destruction of a number of trees.
To Charles Sumiier.
November 14, 1870.
These are happy days at Argyll Lodge and at Inverary ;
and well they may be, for the Princess is a lovely woman
in her own right, and quite apart from her royal birth.
Where are you now ? In what remote and comfortless
"best chamber" are you this moment undergoing your
lecturer's purgatory?^
Miss Mlsson is now stirring the hearts of the Bos-
tonians. She is a charming person, as well as a beautiful
singer, — a true daughter of the North. She dines with
me on Thursday, and I wish you could be with us. Far-
> Mr. Sumner was on a " lecturing tour " through the West.
1870.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 147
ther than this, I have no news to send you. So good-
night, and God hless you!
17th. Miss Nilsson dined with us. She is charming ;
sunny, fresh, and beautiful, with the beauty of the North.
I like herself even better than her singing, delightful as
that is.,
29th. [Mr. W. Everett's] lecture on Virgil ; excellent.
In the evening I tried to render the First Eclogue into
English hexameters, but did not write it down.
To 0. W. Greene.
November 29, 1870.
I have this morning received from the author a poem,
in twenty-eight cantos, on an Indian subject, filling an
octavo volume of 446 pages. It begins : —
" My gentle Muse ! Awake and sing
Of wigwam, tomahawk, and quiver ; "
and ends : —
" We love thee, happy home, we love thee still.
And loud respond again to Whippoorwill."
The best lines I have found in it are these : —
" Such were the solemn rites the throng displayed.
And peaceful slept the pious Vareau's shade, " —
which prove that the author has read the last lines of
Pope's Iliad, if nothing more.
I enclose a cheque, and wish you joy of your windmill.^
Of the Sumner testimonial I know nothing, never having
heard of it before, — unless it be the fund raised to defray
the expense of publishing his Works, which I supposed to
be a secret.
^ Mr. Longfellow purchased for his friend a windmill, which was
moved and attached as a library tower to his house in East Greenwich,
giving it the name of Windmill Cottage.
148 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1870.
To a. W. Curtis.
December 10, 1870.
I am delighted that you can come to me on the 20th.
Come to dinner at five o'clock, and stay all night if you
can. Such is the programme, not to be changed except by
dire necessity ! .
The moon is still shining. I looked out of the window
just now, and there it was, making my neighbor's house
beautiful, — which is more than the architect did. I begin
to think that the moon never sets in Cambridge.
Your lecture leaves behind pleasant reverberations.
Mr. Houghton (who shall be mayor hereafter, though we
did not succeed in getting him into the gilded coach this
year) was here this morning, and was loud in its praises.
But what I value most was the exclamation of the old
lady in coming out : " Oh, dear ! what a splendid lec-
ture!" Like Madelon in the Precieuses Ridicules, "Je
trouve ce oh ! oh ! admirable. J'aimerais mieux avoir fait
ce oh ! oh ! qu'un po^me ^pique."
Decemler 14. Dined with Fields to meet Bayard Taylor,
in honor of the publication of his translation of Faust.
The guests were Lowell, Dana, Howells, Holmes, Aldrich,
and Osgood.
19th. In town. Went to a meeting of the Com-
pany, which is utterly ruined, and my loss several thousand
dollars ; then to a Beethoven concert, which was beauti-
ful, particularly the overture to Egmont. In the evening
numerous callers. Notwithstanding all these interrup-
tions I contrived to write a part of 'Herod's Banquet'
[for the Divine Tragedy].
20th. Finished ' Herod's Banquet.' Gave a little dinner
to Curtis.
1870.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 149
22d. The cares and vexations of daily life, letters, and
manifold interruptions, have driven away my poetic mood,
of which I was making such diligent use and hoping so
much.
23d. A letter from Collector Eussel, in which occurs
this appalling sentence : " Eemembering your interest in
the stray volume of Lamartine which was imported as
paper stock, I write to say that Mr. B., of Washington
Street, has three hundred tons of Lamartine's works now
on their way to this port."
To Charles Sumner.
Christmas, 1870.
I wish you "a Merry Christmas ! " As I write the word
" merry," the two aruspices look at each other, not having
been merry for some time past !
Well, then, a Happy Christmas, or a Tolerable Christ-
mas, or any unobjectionable adjective you may prefer.
What shameful assaults your colleagues are making
upon you in the Senate, if I may judge from the garbled
newspaper accounts. I need not say to you, " Stand firm,"
because you cannot stand in any other way. Hon ra-
gionam di lor.
Sam Ward is to dine with me on Friday.
I need not say that this is not a letter, only a saluta-
tion. I am so driven by angels and demons, — by books,
bores, and beggars, — that I can never achieve anything
that shall rise to the dignity of a letter.
31st. The year ends with a Club dinner.^ Agassiz is
not well enough to be there. But Emerson and Holmes
of the older set were ; and so I was not quite alone.
1 The " Saturday Club," so often alluded to. It met on the last
Saturday of each month at Parker's, in School Street.
CHAPTER IX.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1871.
January 6. The subject of the Divine Tragedy has
taken entire possession of me, so that I can think of
nothing else. All day pondering upon and arranging it^
7th. I find all hospitalities and social gatherings just
now great interruptions. But perhaps it is for the best
[that I have them]. I should work too hard, and perhaps
not so well.
8th. During the last week I have written [five scenes
in the Tragedy].
10th. Cold, hard, and steel-bright. I can hardly hold
a pen to write. Thermometer here in my study only 58°
with a fire. And I have so many letters to answer !
11th. In town at a meeting of stockholders of a coal-
mine company that has come to nought through the fraud
or mismanagement of the directors. A poor widow was
weeping, and saying that her son was dying, and all her
property was in this mine. It was a sad sight. " And
there is the man sitting in that corner who has defrauded
you," said a free-spoken stockholder. In the afternoon
went to a concert and heard Miss Mehlig.
13th. Wrote ' Gamaliel the Scribe ' and part of the
'Porch of Solomon.' [After this, each day records the
writing of a scene, often two, of the Tragedy.]
1 The Divine Tragedy, it may be remembered, was the Gospel
Story, which was to form the first part of the Trilogy, Christus.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 151
17th. Agassiz comes. It is very sad to see the strong
man weakened. He said, " I cannot work," and put his
face in his hands and wept. I comforted him, as well as
I could, with the thought that at sixty we must work
more slowly and more calmly ; that old age is better than
youth for system and supervision, though not for swift
execution of details.
25th. A continued series of interruptions, from break-
fast till dinner. I could not get half an hour to myself
all day long. Oh, for a good snow-storm to block the
door!
27th. Wrote 'The Three Crosses' and 'The Two
Maries.' And now the Divine Tragedy is finished, in
its first shape, and needs only revision, and perhaps
amplification, here and there.
30th. The weather moderates. G goes to River-
side, and comes back saying that he "feels as weak
as a rat." Why do we say " weak as a rat ? " That little
animal seems to me uncommonly strong, when I hear him
at night trundling great weights between the walls.
From Samuel Ward.
Washington, January 31, 1871.
Ml QuEEiDO DuENO, — Your charming letter half
consoled me for my great disappointment at missing
your genial hospitality and the wedding. I unfortu-
nately am a brick — a small one — in a pile, and I could
not be pulled out, at the time in question, without dis-
turbing the equilibrium of other and more important in-
cumbents. The idea was to bring together my friend
General Schenck and my friend Mr. Evarts, who, having
been sent to England twice by Mr. Lincoln, at a great
professional sacrifice, about the " Alabama " and British
and French neutrality, was in a condition to furnish the
152 LETTERS. [1871.
General with points and details of value to his mission.
... I thus did good service, at a sacrifice of my own
enjoyment, in a matter wherein I had no other than a
friendly and patriotic interest. This little incident is a
fair illustration of my daily life. So many of my years
have been wasted in misfortunes and uncongenialities that
the only stimulus that keeps me up to the work is con-
tracting no end of benevolent obligations and endeavoring
to fulfil them.
I completed last Friday my fifty-seventh birthday,
— ever memorable to me as the future anniversary of
the capitulation of Paris. Poor B^ranger died before the
evil day which gave such awful contradiction to his
patriotic songs. As for J. J., he has the melancholy com-
fort of the annihilation of a dynasty he detested. The
days of " mimae, balatrones, et hoc genus omne " are num-
bered. Tigellius is no more emperor. To tell you the
truth, this fearful war-symphony has saddened the last
six months of my life. The dead-march in Beethoven's
Heroic Symphony has pervaded my ears to the exclusion
of all cheerful melodies. Baron Eumohr, in his charming
Cookery-book, says that all the great wars in the world
have been between the hutter countries and the oil countries,
and have resulted in the triumph of the former. So in the
recent disasters of France we find History again repeating
herself. Does it not remind you of Jean Paul's phrase :
" Eternity sat upon chaos and gnawed it and spat it out
again " ? The parallel holds good if you let Bismarck, as
the Eternity of Despotism, and France, as the Chaos of
Kevolutions, personify Jean Paul's ideas.
I was dreaming the other night of your lovely ' Oliver
Basselin,' which I consider inimitable. Do you remem-
ber my sending it to Morpeth in the green cover of Put-
nam's Magazine in 1855, and his letter of thanks which
you gave to Mrs. E. at Newport ? I accept the prophet's
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 153
cliamber in the spring, and enclose a lovely poem I found
in the Post.
Affectionately thine,
S. W.
February 2. Eead some of Browning's Eing and Book.
He is very powerful, but very obscure.
3d. Begin ' Era Joachim/ which is to be an interlude
between parts i. and ii of Christus.
4th. Eead and pondered on many things. Continued
' Fra Joachim.'
8th. Began the second interlude, ' Luther in the Wart-
burg,' to come after the Golden Legend.
9th. Eead in Luther's Life, by Michelet, and his Table-
Talk. Translated Ein' feste Burg. Mr. P., of Philadelphia,
a very cultivated and agreeable young man, at dinner.
12th. Began ' St. John,' to serve as prologue to the
third part of Christus.
To Miss K C .
[Witli some autographs for a Fair.]
February 15, 1871.
I send you half a dozen autographs, and would send you
more if I were not ashamed. But I am ashamed. And
so will you be, when you find you have more than are
wanted.
But it is never too late to mend, — particularly a pen. So
if you find more than half a dozen lunatics who are will-
ing to take this paper currency, be kind enough to let me
know it.
February 20.
How charming it is to be able to help you in go good
a cause by using my pen for a sword, and shedding the
blue blood of my ink, instead of my own I
154 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
I send you twelve more mercenaries to serve in the
ranks, and am always, with best wishes, yours.
17th. Field called in the afternoon. We went to hear
a lecture by Emerson in Boylston Hall. It was on Unity,
as applied to the outer and the inner world, the physi-
cal and intellectual ; the same universal law governing
both.
18th. A driving storm from the South. Key-holes
whistling and chimneys roaring. Amuse myself with
White's Selborne.
20th. Bead Lowell's new book, and heard him lecture
on ' Eeynard the Fox.' In the afternoon read over some
passages in the poem, and also Chaucer's ' Nonne's Priest's
Tale,' which is taken from Eeynard and idealized.
24th. Eead Shelley's ' Epipsichidion.' In the afternoon
Lowell came and sat an hour, and then we walked in the
mud another hour.
To Cha/rles Sumner.
February 24, 1871.
Your letter has just come, and I am delighted beyond
measure at having a word from you, showing the danger
to be past. I am glad, too, that my medicine agrees
with you, and I forthwith prescribe again.
Prescription : Come on to Cambridge at once, and take
possession of the southwest chamber, looking over the
meadows and at the sunset. There you shall have unin-
terrupted quiet, and Dr. Brown-S^quard within reasonable
distance. If you stay in Washington you cannot have
quiet, you know you cannot. So leave the plough in the
furrow and come.
Let Santo Domingo go, as any ordinary echo would tell
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 155
you if you asked it.^ Above all things, do not think of
making another speech at present.
I wish you were here now, and going down with me to
hear Emerson lecture on the Natural History of the Intel-
lect.^ These lectures would be a cordial to you ; and there
are others which would iuterest you.
25th. Saturday Club dinner. Agassiz reappeared,
after an absence of more than a year. We had among
our guests Mr. Bret Harte, from California, who has made
his mark in literature by tales and poems.
27th. My sixty-fourth birthday. I hoped no one
would remember it; but a great many people did, and
sent me flowers, etc.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
February 28, 1871.
A benediction on the Benedictines !
I knew they were great lovers of literature, but I did
not know that they were also distillers of herbs and
manufacturers of exquisite liqueurs !
Your charming remembrance of me on my birthday, —
the jolly, round, and happy little monk bedded in flowers,
came safely in his wooden cradle. A thousand and a
thousand thanks !
I am ashamed to send back the basket, or bucket, empty ;
but I look round in vain for something to fill it. What
shaU I do ?
After all, the greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it
anticipates and admits of no return. I therefore accept
1 Mr. Sumner was throwing himself with ardor against the Presi-
dent's project of annexing Santo Domingo.
2 Mr. Emerson was giving a course at the University under this
title.
156 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
yours, pure and simple ; and on the whole am glad that I
have nothing to send back in the basket.
StUl, empty is a horrid word. I try in vain to comfort
myself. I make believe it is the best thing to do, and do
it, knowing all the while that it is not the best thing.
March 1. Bret Harte dined with me ; the other guests
Lowell, Howells, Henry James ; S. and A.
19th. My brother Alexander came in the morning ; and
in the afternoon Professor Horsford and Ole Bull, who is
staying with him. Dined at Horsford's, and after dinner
Ole Bull played to us for an hour or two.
To J. T. Fields.
March 19, 1871.
Card Signoe Campi, — I beg you not to eat much
dinner to-morrow, because I propose to give you a little
supper vrith my brother Alexander, commander of the
"Meredith," U. S. Coast Survey.
I dined this evening with Professor Horsford, to meet
your friend Ole Bull. After dinner he played divinely on
the violin, and told some amusing stories, — for which I
promised to pardon him, on condition of his dining with
me when he comes back to Boston.
He also described to me his improvement of the piano-
forte. I thought it was the Marquis of Worcester reading
from his Century of Inventions.
What a child of Nature, and how very agreeable he is !
To Charles Sumner.
March 22, 1871.
I have just received three volumes of the new edition of
your Works, beautifully printed and beautifully bound; and
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTEES. 157
Mr. Butler says that my functions as subscriber are no
longer to be exercised, but that I am to look upon these
volumes and the rest as a gift from you.
I was just taking up my pen to thank you for this
.munificence, when I took up the first volume, and began
to read at the beginning," The True Grandeur of Nations."
How it took me back to the days of youth ! How it
recalled the whole scene, — the crowd, the hot summer
day, the dismay of the military men in their uniforms,
the delight and applause of the audience !
Then I went on with the Phi Beta Kappa oration and
the Prison Discipline discussion, — each bringing up very
vividly a scene of the past. To-night I have been liv-
ing your life over again, and mine in part.
I have also looked over the Contents of the other vol-
umes, and remembering that seven more are to come, I am
amazed and delighted.
This is a noble monument of a noble life ! God bless
you ! No statesman in any age or country has a better
or a nobler.
23d. Harvard Association Concert. Mostly Beethoven's
music, upon which the grand bronze statue of the great
master, by Crawford, looked down well pleased.
To Miss P .
March 30, 1871.
I have had the great pleasure of receiving the silver
spoon made by Paul Eevere which you have been so kind
and generous as to send me by the hand of our highly
esteemed friend Miss M. C. I beg you to accept my
most cordial thanks. It is a gift which I shall highly
prize and cherish.
158 JOUENAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
When I received it, I felt as if I had been christened
over again, and had an "apostle spoon" sent me as a
present. Paul Eevere was an apostle of liberty, if not of
religion.
In a narrow street in Florence is still to be seen the
humble shop in which Benvenuto Cellini worked. But
alas ! in Boston there is no longer any trace of the work-
shop of Paul Revere. All the more shall I value this
little relic of him.
April 3. Went to see J. 0., whose place by the river
has been sold. They are stripping it of its fruit and forest
trees. In the afternoon Emerson's lecture on the Will.
He did not once quote Jonathan Edwards, whose work I
never read, but mean now to read it.
To G. W. Greene.
April 3, 1871.
I send you one or two advertisements of a certain book
which may interest you. Keep the long one, as it may be
interesting hereafter to see what books came out with
yours, and what their fortunes were. I wish I had the
original advertisement of all my books ; I have not one.
The weather to-day has been like midsummer ; the ther-
mometer in my study has stood at eighty. I have kept
indoors all day, and have written a new scene that occurred
to me for the Divine Tragedy. The danger is that I shall
make it too long.
The girls have a musical party to-night. The piano-
forte is going on one side of me, and the venerable, his-
toric door-knocker on the other. Some bashful juvenile
is even now timidly applying his hand to it. A confused
murmur of voices comes from the library ; and I sit here
187].] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 159
like a sphinx who has had a riddle proposed to her, instead
of proposing one to other people.
The door again !
5th. Transplanted from Owen's an elm-tree, a seedling
from the Washington elm, and placed it between me and
my neighbor Hastings, on the east side of the house.
10th. Meditating a third play, to complete the third
part of Christus. The scene to be among the Moravians
at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.
11th. Happy to-day in the new poetic idea which be-
gins to germinate and develop itself in my mind. I hope
I shall be able to harmonize in it the discord of the New
England Tragedies, and thus give a not unfitting close to
the work.^
13th. Wrote ' At Bethany,' for the Divine Tragedy, —
a very short scene; but it would be no better for being
longer.
14th. A call from Mrs. Julia Howe and her brother,
Sam Ward. He looks like a prime minister or European
diplomat. I was very glad to see him.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
April 25, 1871.
We accept, Greene and myself, your kind invitation to
dinner on Thursday, and will present ourselves in proper
uniform at six o'clock.
Do not give yourself any further trouble about the
notices of Greene's book. Several papers have been sent
by the publishers. Already I notice something like pea-
cock's feathers growing upon my friend, and have to
spread my own very wide to show that I still exist and
1 This wa-s never written.
160 JOURNALS AND LETTERS. [1871.
am still respectable, though tarnished. It is a very
comical sight to see two authors shut up in one room
together !
However, we will be serious on Thursday.
30th. A gap in my Journal. I have been busy helping
Greene with the Index to his biography of his grandfather.
May 1. C. leaves us for his long journey to San Fran-
cisco, Japan, and China. In the afternoon heard Dr.
Hedge's lecture on Spinoza.
5th. Eead Liza, by Tourg^nief, the Eussian novelist,
translated by Ealston, of the British Museum. Very in-
teresting, and the descriptions of Nature fresh and sweet.
Dine with Mrs. Howe.
12th. A call from Dana, bringing Lord Tenterden. and
Professor Bernard, of " Her Majesty's High Commission "
on the " Alabama " claims.
15th. Agassiz called, and talked about his expedition
round the Cape to California, upon which he starts this
summer.
24th. Finished a new Tale for the second day of the
Wayside Inn, — a New England story, ' Lady Wentworth.'
31st. Eead Johnson's Life of Dryden, and Dryden's
'Hind and Panther.' Not much edified by either. A
theological discussion in verse is not redeemed by the
splendor of single lines. The 'Eeligio Laici' is far su-
perior. But in reading Dryden one always feels that he
is breathing a strong, deep-sea atmosphere.
June, 1. Went with Fields to Portsmouth to, see old
houses. Mr. Haven received us at the station and enter-
tained us most hospitably. First, lunch ; then drive to
Little Harbor to see the Wentworth house, — a quaint,
irregular pile of buildings hidden from the road by ris-
ing ground, though close upon it, with lilac hedges, and
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 161
looking seaward; not unlike my description of it.^ We
went all over the lower part of the house, and saw the
present owner, a sprightly old lady of ninety, and her
daughter. Then we drove to Newcastle, — an island
reached by bridges over arms of the sea, — and went to Mr.
Albee's cottage. He was away ; but we saw his wife, whom
I remember as Miss E., of Boston, a young Catholic, full
of charitable works. Then back to town and visited the
beautiful Barrows house, the Wentworth town house, and
the Warner house. Dined with Mr. Haven and the Uni-
tarian clergyman Mr. De Normandie, who had been the
companion of our drive. Home by the evening train.
3d. Excessively hot ; nevertheless drove in to the
opera in the afternoon. Gounod's Faust; Miss Kellogg
as Margaret, and Castelmary as Mephisto.
To J. T. Fields.
Three-fifths of twelve
Are $7.20.
This may appear
To he somewhat dear ;
But wherefore went he 1
The Faust of Goiinod
Is an opera, you know,
In which Castelmary
Plays the Old Harry, —
Therefore spent he
His $7.20.
June 4, 1871.
* He wrote to Mr. Greene : " I had a most successful day with
Fields at his native town, and saw sundry curious old houses, —
among them the Wentworth house, which I was anxious to see,
having already described it in a poem. I found it necessary to
change only a single line, — which was lucky. We saw also some
very interesting old people, with the grand manners of other days, —
always so attractive." j^
162 JOURNAL. [1871.
5th. Eead Dryden's Songs and Elegies. He is pretty
tame sometimes ; and then will come a line which flashes
across the page like a train of powder.
6th. Walked to Riverside to see Mr. Houghton about
Mr. Kroeger's Specimens of the Minnesingers, which I
want him to publish. A cool wind blowing over the
river and the salt-marshes. In the afternoon Signer
Corti, the Italian minister, calls with S. Eliot and Signer
Bragiotti.
7th. Sirocco very oppressive. Began the poem of
' Carmilhan.'
10th. Finished 'Carmilhan.' Only two more stories
are wanted to complete the Second Day of the Wayside
Inn.
12th. Looking for the theme of another story. Fix
upon the ' Legend Beautiful,' and begin it.
13th. Went with A. to "Shark's Mouth," H.'s sea-
side place at Manchester. A lovely stone house, with
lofty terraces, and splendid outlook over the sea and
rocky islands. I do not believe there is a more beau-
tiful seaside place in New England ; it is all one could
17th. Lowell, Cranch, and Fields dined with me.
After dinner C. sang two songs with great effect.
23d. Class-day ; and a very delightful day for the col-
legians and the young ladies.
25th. Mr. Haliburton, of Nova Scotia, dined with me,
son of Judge Haliburton. He is much interested in cer-
tain abstruse speculations about the symbolism of the
Cross.
July 1. A day of affairs preparatory to Nahant. In
the afternoon Mrs. B. called for flowers to make button-
hole bouquets for the convicts in the State Prison. Mr.
Zerdahelyi came to dinner, and played in the evening
some beautiful things from Chopin.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 163
3d. In the afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Stillman. She is
like Eossetti's "Blessed Damosel." There is something
pre-Eaphaelite about her.
6th. Nahant. 'The low wash of the sea very soothing.
Last night was lovely, — a tropical night, with dreamy
stars, and phosphorescent waves rolling up the beach.
To J. T. Fields.
Nahant, July 7, 1871.
A thousand thanks for your note and its enclosure.
There goes a gleam of sunshine into a dark house, which
is always pleasant to think of. I have not yet got the
senator's sunbeam to add to it, but as soon as I do, both
shall go shining on their way.
I come back to my old wish and intention of leaving
the [Atlantic] Magazine when you do. This is the wisest
course, as I could easily persuade you, if I had you alone
here by the seaside. But I do not like to write about it,
for you see how the paper blots and the ink spreads with
the damp.
I am curious to hear of the effect of your reading at the
Island. When you come to the lines about the Spring,
read as follows: —
" The roMn, the forerunner of the Spring,
The blue-bird Tvith his jocund carolHng.''
The robin is more familiar, and belongs more to New Eng-
land than the oriole, and must take his place.
I hear the steamboat's whistle below. I wish you were
coming to dinner ; but I know you are not.
13th. Ah, these melancholy anniversaries! [his wed-
ding day and his wife's funeral.] I was awakened this
morning about sunrise by the singing of a bird inside my
164 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
room. I looked up and saw it perched on the window-
blind. It then hopped into the room, — a little yellow
bird with brown wings. After singing awhile, it perched
on the rounds of a chair, then flew out of the other
window.
16th. Dr. was very long and very ardent and
very Scotch. The doctrine I did not agree with, but liked
parts of the sermon, notwithstanding.
18th. Too cold to sit still, too hot to walk in the sun.
That is the peculiar character of Nahant. T. returned in
his yacht from Portland this morning. After dinner the
S s called. They are here for an hour or two in a
beautiful yacht, — the " Palmer," — bound for the coast of
Maine.
To Charles Sumner.
Nahant, July 19, 1871.
Your working on so steadily through the hot weather
fills me with wonder and envy. I cannot do it even here
at the seaside. In fact I find that being by the sea is as
bad as being on the sea, for any kind of intellectual work.
It is a good place to read newspapers and Eeviews ; and
that is about all. This year I brought down with me
Plutarch's Morals, — II charming book for town or country.
Here I cannot take the slightest interest in it. It seems
prolix and ponderous.
Come and see if the briny atmosphere does not lay a
wet cloth on your brain and cool it down to the average
human speed. That is why I do not like to stay here so
long. But in- summer would it be different elsewhere ?
No ; it is the season, not the place, after all.
Cogswell is coming to us on Saturday for a few days.
After that, this whole house is d su disposicion de Vmd?
^ " At your Grace's disposal," the customary Spanish courtesy.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 165
You who speak all modern languages "in a calm and
measured tone," will understand the Spanish. But I do
not mean the words in the Spanish complimentary sense,
but literally, — as you well know.
20th. Behold the virtuous man, who answers all let-
ters as soon as they are received ! If I can only keep up
this habit it will save me great annoyance.
22d. Cogswell comes down in the boat. Dear old
man, how glad I am to see him ! In the evening I call
on the Eev. Dr. Potter, of Grace Church, Few York, who
is to preach to-morrow. He comes home with me and
sits an hour in pleasant talk.
To J. B. Lowell.
Nahant, July 25, 1871.
I am very sorry to hear such a story of poor , and
will to-day send my contribution.
I shall not be able to go to the Club on Saturday,
having, in forgetfulness of its being the last Saturday [of
the month], invited a gentleman to come down to Nahant
that day. Besides, the uncertainty of getting back here
at night intimidates me.
Is there any chance of your coming down to dine with
us? Choose your own day, — the brightest and hottest
you can find, — and we shall be only too glad to see you.
We dine at five, and you can return by the boat at quar-
ter past six. On Sunday we dine at two, — from a vague
notion that somebody wants to go to church in the after-
noon. Therefore do not choose Sunday, if you please.
Mr. Cogswell is passing a few days with us, and is very
pleasant company; otherwise Nahant is unusually dull
this year.
166 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [187L
27th. Eead some articles in the Journal of Speculative
Philosophy; wrote some letters; and that is the record
of the day.
28th. Being troubled with sleeplessness, I determined
last night to go to sleep by force of will. It succeeded
perfectly. A thunder-storm waked me in the night. As
soon as it was over, I was asleep again. If this always
succeeds, I shall be a happy man.
29th. Eead Ginx's Baby, — a clever book on pauperism
in England ; very tragic, and I suppose true.
From H. C. Andersen.
Copenhagen, July, 1871.
Mt dear Sie, — A talented young Dane, Mr, W., is
going to visit America for the first time. I send you,
through him, my kindest regards. He will be happy in
making your acquaintance, and I shall be so by hearing
news from you when he returns. I hope that you have
a copy of my Collected Works, and that you will have
a spare moment to glance at them. My latest story,
Lijkhe Peer, you will not find there ; but it is in Scribuer's
Magazine.
If not the great rolling Ocean was between us, and I
was not sixty-seven years old, then I should arrive in
your mighty country some pleasant summer day. As it
is, I can only send a letter and the kind regards of your
friend and admirer,
Hans Christian Andersen.
August 1. A splendid sunset, with a thunder-storm
passing over Boston seaward, — a sight of surpassing
beauty.
2d. M. Auguste Bartholdi, French sculptor, calls with
a letter from Agassis. A pleasant, lively, intelligent man,
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 167
a Republican and an Alsatian. He has a plan for erect-
ing a bronze Colossus on Bedloe's Island, in New York
harbor, — a statue of Liberty, to serve at night as a
lighthouse. It is a grand plan ; I hope it will strike
the New Yorkers.
3d. A youth ■ in England, of the Swinburne-Eossetti
school, sends me three volumes of verse, mostly love-
sonnets. In one of them he says : —
" We see no longer what of old we saw,
Nor is the vision present any more."
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, August 3, IS^l.
Shall I lie down and sleep, on this sultry summer noon,
or sit here and write to you? The question. is answered
as soon as asked. You smile, and think I cannot sleep
when I will. You are mistaken ; I can. After so many
sleepless nights, — so many years of sleepless nights, — I
have made a great discovery, and to me of infinite value.
I can put myself to sleep by an effort of the will. When
I go to bed at night, I will myself to sleep ; and the next
thing I am conscious of is that it is morning, and the
birds are singing. Congratulate me !
Sumner has not yet made his appearance, though I look
for him daily. I have had a letter from Lord Stanhope,
and an invitation, couched in the most flattering terms,
to preside at the Eoyal Literary Fund Society. Shall I
go ? Rhyme and Reason answer, " No ! "
August 5.
I dreamed of you last night. You got home very late,
and came up by the dumb-waiter into the dining-room
closet, in a dress-coat and a white hat very much crushed.
You said you had been out to drive with a Spanish lady.
It seemed in the dream all very natural ; but a sudden
168 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
rush of rain on the roof woke me, and I laughed aloud at
the absurdity of the vision, — as you will probably do
when you read this account of it.
Allow me to offer you, for your future guidance, Alder-
man G 's views on public libraries : —
"Alderman G has not a doubt that the library would hold
all the books actually required, — such works as were likely to he in
demand by the reading public, and would do any good. He beUeyed
in casting off a great deal of superfluous matter that he had reason to
think was already there. The works of nearly every writer iu the
world were fast finding their way into the library, and were stored
there at great expense. He asked if there were not a hundred thou-
sand volumes on the shelves that were never called for."
A gentleman who has been trying to get a Lowell
course writes to me : " As for lectures at the Lowell next
season, there has been such an overflow of applications
that it was impossible for me to obtain a course. . . .
Sometimes applicants have to wait three or four years."
No Sumner yet. He leaves Washington on Monday
the 7th, but stops in Philadelphia and New York.
4th. Write, declining the honor of presiding at the
Literary Fund dinner. I cannot cross the ocean again so
soon.
6th. Mr. McKenzie preached a good sermon on Eest, —
Christ sitting by Jacob's well, being weary.
7th. Eead a little in Michelet's French Eevolution, —
a pictorial style, the style of romance rather than history.
8th. Eead, in Hedge's Prose Writers of Germany, an
essay on the supposed origin of Man [by Kant], — an in-
teresting interpretation of Genesis.
12th. A man with a divining-rod points out a place
where we may dig a well. I am curious to see if we shall
find water there. Sumner arrives.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 169
14th. Go with Sumuer to Mr. James's to see the re-
gatta. A pretty sight, — all those towering white sails in
the distance ; and then a slow and scattered flight, as of
sea-birds, south toward Minot's Ledge.
15th. Went to town to attend the meeting of the His-
torical Society in celebration of Walter Scott's birthday.
Eemarks by Winthrop, Emerson, Hillard, Quincy, and
Waterston, and letters from Holmes and Bryant.
17th. The senator brings a perfect avalanche of news-
papers with him from all quarters of the Union; and I
see what unwholesome food for the million they furnish.
From Louis Agassiz.
Cambridge, August 18, 1871.
My dear Longfellow, — You are so lovable that I
should like to have you all to myself ; and yet my neces-
sities are such, on the eve of a long journey, that I hardly
know how to enjoy what is actually offered me. Mrs. A.,
too, would gladly join me on a day's visit to you at
Nahant. I had hoped to accompany her this morning
when she went to see her mother, and had intended to
call upon you to agree for a day; but the Museum has
kept me prisoner, and I must postpone my visit to next
week. Meanwhile believe me
Ever truly your friend,
L? Agassiz.
22d. The steam-tug comes for us, and Sumner, Mr.
James, Ernest, and myself go to meet the revenue-cutter
in the harbor. Find on board the Collector, with Agassiz
and a young Japanese prince; and we steam away for
Minot's Ledge. Dinner (on board) ended, we find our-
selves at the base of the lighthouse, rising sheer out of the
sea like a huge stone cannon, mouth upward. We are
170 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
hoisted up forty feet in a chair, some of us ; others go up
hy an iron ladder, — all but the young Japanese, who re-
fuses to go up at all. Whether he was afraid, or thought
it only a trick to imprison him, will remain a mystery till
his Travels are published.
23d. Sumner departs, and we are left quite lonely.
Eead Scott's Eokeby. In the evening see the half-
moon sailing through broken clouds, white and black,
like a ship making her way through fields of ice.
25th. Mr. [F. H.] Underwood calls to talk about some
literary matters.
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, August 25, 1871.
The senator [Sumner] has departed; he comes back to
Nahant on Sunday, but not to me, having another friend
to visit here, who insists upon having his share. I am
sorry to say that the violent attack of angina pectoris
which he had last winter has left some traces. He com-
plains that I walk too fast, and is averse to walking at
all. The air of Nahant is just the thing for him, and he
means to stay a week or two longer, — about as long as
we do.
Thanks for the gondolier's pamphlet on Dante ; I dare
say it is very curious :. but did you find in it any valuable
hint or suggestion ? On Tuesday we made our expedition
to Minot's Ledge ; it was every way pleasant and success-
ful. We wished you could have been with us ; but it was
impossible to notify you in season. The lighthouse rises
out of the sea like a beautiful stone cannon, mouth up-
ward, belching forth only friendly fires. We went up
into it, — even into the lantern itself, the glass of which
(beautiful plate-glass) cost ten thousand dollars. I can
believe this, having seen it, and knowing what telescopic
lenses cost. The lantern will hold six people easily.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 171
The days grow shorter ; the trees begin to scatter their
curl-papers about the grass ; there is a touch of autumn
in the air ; and the swift summer is gone.
&ptember 1. Everything alive with sunshine, and the
sea grinding its curved battle-axe on the beach. Eead in
Plutarch's Morals and in Tyndall's Swiss Sketches, —
climbing the Matterhorn and other perilous peaks. His
descriptions of sky-effects are very beautiful.
2d. Eeceive from Mr. Henry Gersoni a Hebrew trans-
lation of ' Excelsior.'
4th. Call on Dr. Holmes at Mr. James's. Sumner
still there. We discuss the new poets.
7th. I begin to grow restless, and want to get back to
Cambridge.
11th. Begin to pack. I wish it were over, and I in
Cambridge. I am impatient to send the Divine Tragedy
to the printers.
25th, Camhridge. Begin the printing of the Tragedy.
In the evening look over Weber's Metrical Eomances.
28th. Sophocles passed a couple of hours with me
talking about Homer, and the convents in the East, in
one of which he was educated.
29th. Eead Strodtman's Life of Heine.
30th. Dinner at the Club. Among other guests M.
Coquerel, the Protestant liberal clergyman from Paris.
A very agreeable man, speaking English with the greatest
fluency.
October 11. In the evening take the girls to see Miss
Nilsson in Lucia. Her singing and acting both superb.
Brignoli, with his pathetic tenor, as Edgardo.
12th. Corrected manuscript and proofs. Strodtman's
Heine; rather long-winded.
15th, Drove Agassiz in to dine with Mr. Hooper, to meet
172 JOURNAL. [1871.
President Grant and some of his Secretaries. The Presi-
dent is a quiet, unostentatious man, with a soft, pleasant
voice.
18th. The delays of printers are a great worry to
authors.
20th. A call from the son of the late Archbishop of
Canterbury, whom I saw at Lambeth Palace in 1868.
Went with him to the Library and to the Museum.
21st. Go to see Prescott's library, which is to be sold
by auction ; then to Music Hall to hear the organ.
25th. At the Prescott sale. A great sacrifice.^ Get
the last proof-sheet of the Divine Tragedy.
28th. Dinner at Club. The British Parliament was
well represented.
29th. Heard M. Coquerel, the Trench clergyman,
preach in English, which he did astonishingly well. The
choir sang Luther's hymn, Ein^ feste Burg, in Dr. Hedge's
translation, which I thought very good.
30th. Eead over proofs of the Interludes and Finale
and am doubtful and perplexed.
31st. Mr. Samuelson, M.P., came out to dine. We
took a walk to see the Colleges and the Observatory.
Lowell dined with us, and was very gay and agreeable.
November 2. Walked to Riverside, and bought Pictures
in Black, by Paul Konewka, — books for children, but with
beautiful " scissor-pictures," silhouettes of great artistic
skill; I never tire of them, they are so natural.
8th. M. Coquerel, Professor Child, and S. at our
family dinner to-day. Coquerel is a great talker, and
talks well.
15th. All the last week perplexed and busy with final
correction of the Tragedy.
1 Mr. Prescott's copies of Irving — nine volumes — are in the
library of Craigie House.
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 173
16th. Went down to the Eiverside Press with a manu-
script novel sent by a lady to find a publisher, and be-
speak for it an early and friendly reading. Call on
Mountford, who has taken the old Winthrop house for
the winter.!
17th. Two editions of the Divine Tragedy will be
published at the same time, — a dear one and a cheap
one. I never had so many doubts and hesitations about
any book as about this.
18th. Went with Fields to the Globe to see Miss
Cushman as Katharine in Henry VIII.
19th. Wrote a great many letters. Sumner at dinner.
He seemed weary of work.
To Florence A-
■ November 20, 1871.
I have put off answering your nice little note from day
to day ; but, as you see, I have not forgotten it. I have
been hoping all along that some lines of poetry, such as
you ask for, would come into my mind. But they would
not, and so I have to write you in prose, not to keep you
waiting any longer.
If you will ask your papa, who knows all about it, he
will tell you that good poems do not always come to one's
mind when wanted. Verses — yes, one can write those
at any time ; but real poetry — that is another matter. I
think good prose is better than bad verse. I do not
say bad •poetry, because when it is bad, it is no longer
poetry.
And so I send you this little note instead of a little
song; and with it good wishes for your birthday, and
kind remembrances for your father.
1 William Mountford, author of Euthanasy, and Thorpe.
174 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
26th. Drove over to the Navy Yard in the afternoon
with my girls to see the little steamer (the " Hassler ") in
which Agassiz is going round the Cape. Yesterday at the
Club dinner we drank his health at parting. I proposed
it thus: "Gentlemen, I am reminded that we shall not
again have with us for a year and a day our dear Agassiz,
who sits there at the head of the table so joyous and
unconcerned. I shall, therefore, for once break through
our usual custom and propose his health. Wordsworth
once said that he could have written the plays of Shakes-
peare if he had had a mind to. And I suppose that on
an occasion like this I could make a speech, — if I had a
mind to. But I shall do nothing of the kind; I shall
limit myself to proposing 'The health of Agassiz: his
deepest sea-soundings shall not be deeper than our love
and admiration for him.
' Quis desiderio ait pudor aut modus
Tain cari capitis V"
From Bayard Taylor.
Kennett Square, November 27, 1871.
My deae Longfellow, — II'ow all is clear! I can
overlook your design from first to last, and see how each
part grows in importance as it falls into its place. The
closing of the Divine Tragedy with the Apostles' Creed
somewhat puzzled me; and when I received your letter
on Saturday, I could not guess how the New England
Tragedies were to be connected. But the proofs of the
Interludes and the Finale, which arrived this morning,
give me the key to all. I do not feel that the meaning
of any detail is doubtful, and each gains from the extent
and beauty and altitude of the uniting design.
I know not who else before you has so wonderfully
wedded Poetry and the Eeligious Sentiment. Milton, cer-
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 175
tainly, only half succeeded ; and in spite of Klopstock's
former popularity I must insist that he entirely failed.
What in this completed work might seem simplest to the
ordinary reader, is to me the greatest evidence of your
success. In the Finale the familiar phrases meet me in a
transfigured form: it is a new illustration of the power
which perfect rhythm adds to language.
I congratulate you from my heart ; and in doing so I
congratulate myself : for each new achievement in Poetry
is an indirect inspiration to me. I feel anew the capacity
to rise when another rises. And I have not had for a
long time such an influx of fresh hope and courage as
within the past seven days.^
Always faithfully yours,
Bayaed Taylor.
December 1. Dined with Charles Perkins to meet Dr.
Howson, Dean of Chester, England.
3d. Finished the 'Baron Castine of St. Castine.'
4th. Call on the Dean of Chester at Dr. Wharton's ;
and with him on Mrs. Stowe. We see her and her sister
Miss Beecher, and Dr. Stowe, with his wild snowstorm of
hair and beard.
5th. A year ago to-day I began the Divine Tragedy,
and finished it on the 27th of January. To-day the thought
comes back to my mind of a Tragedy of Judas Maccabeus,
which I noted down as long ago as 1850. Went with the
Dean and his daughters to the Library, to the Museum,
to Dr. Palfrey's, to the Botanic Garden. They dined
with us.
1 Shortly before, Mr. Taylor had written : " I am full of renewed
hope and courage this evening after your cordial words. But, as I
have tried to say, I have never yet met you without some clear,
strong, generous encouragement."
176 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1871.
8th. Lunched at President Eliot's to meet the Grand
Duke Alexis of Eussia, a tall, handsome youth of twenty-
one or two.
9th. At the dinner given by citizens of Boston to the
Grand Duke. Winthrop presided, and there was much
speech-making till midnight.
10th. At home all day. Began the Tragedy of Judas
Maccabeus. The subject is a very striking one, — the
collision of Judaism and Hellenism; I greatly wonder
that it has not been treated before.
11th. By invitation of the Grand Duke, dine with him
at the Eevere. Besides his suite, the guests were Win-
throp, Lowell, Holmes, President Eliot, Mr. Fox, Mr.
Winlock, and Mr. Storer, the Russian consul.
12th. The Divine Tragedy is published to-day.
17th. Taylor's notice of Chris tus in the New York
Tribune is very good, and shows the scope of the whole
poem and the connection of its parts.
To G. W. Greene.
December 17, 1871.
It is not tobacco that brings upon the human race those
■ evils whose long and dismal catalogue you send me; but,
as Dr. Holland — not the author of ' Bitter-Sweet,' though
I dare say the author of sweet bitters — once said, tapping
a bottle at the dinner-table with his knife, " That is the
fellow that does the mischief ! "
I supposed that long ago you had gone from Cornell's
Ithaca to your own ; by your letter to-day I see that little
Telemachus must still be looking for Ulysses.
The Divine Tragedy is very successful, from the booksel-
ler's point of view, — ten thousand copies were published
on Tuesday last, and the printers are already at work on
three thousand more. That is pleasant, but that is not
1871.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 177
the main thing. The only question about a book ought
to be whether it is successful in itself. Bayard Taylor,
Lowell, and Fields dined with me yesterday.
18th. Finish Act third of Maccabeus, begun yesterday.
21st. Finish Judas Maccabeus, — begun on the 10th;
the Acts are not long, but there are five of them. A new
subject comes to my mind, — Hagar and Ishmael. But
can it be wrought into a tragedy ? It is tragic enough ;
but has it unity, and has it a catastrophe to end with ?
22d. Eead in Forster's Life of Dickens.
To G. W. Greene.
December 23, 1871.
The weather to-day has been Eoman weather, that takes
all manhness out of a man ; and to-night the south wind
is pelting hail, rain, and sleet against my study-windows.
I feel, too, a little exhausted by work, for within the last
fortnight I have written a tragedy, which hangs over your
visit like a thunder-cloud. You will have to hear it, how-
ever sound you may sleep in the green chair. I have also
many things to tell you of the dinner to the Grand Duke
Alexis, at which I was present, sitting at the right hand
of this amiable and handsome youth. On the whole, it"
was most successful ; but two or three things were said in
speeches that were amazingly funny. Have you seen
Forster's Life of Dickens ? It is very interesting, but it
made me profoundly melancholy ; perhaps I can tell you
why, but I hardly care to write it.
With all good wishes for a happy, if not a merry,
Christmas.
27th. Finished two scenes of ' Hagar.' It interests me;
but whether I can make anything of it is doubtful.^
' Only a few fragments more were written.
12
178 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [187L
29th. Eead to Greene (who arrived last night) ' Baron
Castine,' which he likes, and ' Judas,' which he does not
dislike. Eeceive a highly complimentary letter from Eev.
Dr. Bushnell on the Divine Tragedy.
From Horace Bushnell.
Hartford, December 28, 1871.
Deae Sie, — Since it will he a satisfaction to me to
express my delight in the success of your poem, you can-
not well deny me the privilege. When I heard the first
announcement of it as forthcoming, I said : " Well, it is
the grandest of all subjects ; why has it never been at-
tempted ? " And yet I said iuwardly in the next breath :
" What mortal power is equal to the handling of it ? "
The greater and the more delightful is my surprise at the
result. You have managed the theme with really wonder-
ful address. The episodes, and the hard characters, and the
partly imaginary characters, you had your liberty in ; and
you have used them well to suffuse and flavor and poetize
the story. And yet, I know not how it is, but the part
which finds me most perfectly, and is, in fact, the most
poetic poetry of all, is the prose-poem, — the nearly
rhythmic transcription of the simple narrative matter of
the gospels. Perhaps the true account of it may be that
the handling is so delicately reverent, intruding so little
of the poet's fine thinking and things, that the reverence
incorporate promotes the words and lifts the ranges of
the sentiment ; so that when the reader comes out at the
close, he finds himself in a curiously new kind of inspira-
tion, born of modesty and silence.
I can easily imagine that certaiu chaffy people may put
their disrespect on you for what I consider your praise.
Had you undertaken to build the Christ yourself, as they
1871.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 179
would require of you, I verily believe it would have killed
you, — that is, made you a preacher.
With many thanks, I am yours,
Horace Bushnell.
30th. Eeceive from Eoutledge in London three notices
of the Tragedy, all hostile.
CHAPTER X.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1872.
January 4. Read Sheik Saadi's Gulistan, in Gladwin's
translation, with preface by Emerson.
15th. Give the day to the reading of a novel of Tour-
g^nief,^ — beautifully written, but painful.
16th. Read Mrs. [Emma] Marshall's Heights and Val-
leys, which the authoress sends me, — a well-written tale
of the religious kind.
To G. W. Greene.
January 21, 1872.
Do not jump rashly at disagreeable conclusions. A
newspaper writer is not infallible, any more than Pio
Nono. So do not yield to despondency because Solomon
proposes to cut the baby in two. Possibly he has no such
intention.
A theological question has just risen in my mind.
What right has a Calvinist to get married and beget
children, when, according to his doctrine, the chances are
that they wiU go into everlasting torment ? Ought he not
rather to go into a monastery or a Shaker brotherhood ?
I return Professor F 's letter, and am glad that he
enjoyed the dinner. You did, and I did, and we aU did ;
and it was very pleasant every way.
' Probably Liza, sent him by the translator, W. E. S. Ralston
1872.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 181
February 3. Eead in Taine's History of English Lit-
erature,— a prodigiously clever book.
4th. Continue Taine. How does a Frenchman con-
trive to go out of himself and get such insight into things
English ?
11th. Eead Voltaire's Zwlre. These two lines make
me thiak of Sumner: —
" Heuieux h qui le ciel a donne le povivoir
De remplir comme vous un si noble devoir."
To C. E. Norton {in Europe).
February 20, 1872.
I was delighted to get your letter and to learn that you
are all well, and particularly that your mother's health is
quite restored. That is the best news you could send, '
and brightens up your letter, otherwise rather gloomy
with the gigantic scoundrelism of your native land. And
no wonder. At times it seems to me that we have the
millstone round our neck, and that the rest is .coming.
Still, I have faith that the good will conquer, and do not
fall upon my sword.
Thanks for the Uhland Catalogue, which is curious and
worth keeping: But what a mouldy, mediaeval collection
of old armor! Quaritch has published a similar catalogue
of valuable old rubbish, which if you have not seen I ad-
vise you to get. It is very curious ; and for the moment
one is seduced into believing that he really wants the
books and must have them: but he lays the catalogue
away, and the pleasing illusion soon vanishes. StUl, I
confess that of all the ways of spending money yet de-
vised by man, this is to me the most fascinating.
I have requested Tauchnitz to send you a copy of his
edition of my new book [The Divine Tragedy]. It is the
first part of Christus. The three parts are to be joined by
182 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1872.
Interludes of ' The Abbot Joacbim ' and ' Martin Lnther,'
and closed by a Finale, 'St. John/ — a counterpoise to the
'Introitus' of the present volume. This is an old, old
design; twenty years old and more, and only now com-
pleted. In a certain sense one part explains and requires
the others. . . .
Your cousin, S. Eliot, has begun his lectures in the
University course, on the History of the present century,
I hear that his audience is large, and young ladies abound
in the class. I missed his introductory, but shall attend
the rest. I rejoice in his success. — Appleton has a volume
of poems in the press.
24th. Club dinner. Had as my guest the amiable
Eobert Dale Owen. On the other side of me sat Eobert
CoUyer, the clergyman. Both men of mark.
25th. Eead Schiller's Don Carlos. At dinner had Dr.
Clement, of Hamburg, — a simple, sweet old man, very
navf. By birth he is a Frieslander, born on one of the
islands in the North Sea.
26th. Hear Sophocles on Simon Magus, with some
extracts from his writings and account of his doctrines
that have not found their way into the Biblical Diction-
aries. Very interesting and curious.. Helen of Tyre he
called his Upinoia, or self-consciousness.
I have more definitely conceived the idea of a dramatic
poem on Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna, which has
been vaguely hovering in my thoughts for some time.
Can I accomplish it?
To 0. W. Greene.
February 26, 1872.
I have been reading to-day Schiller's Don Carlos. It is
more poetical than Alfieri's Filippo, but not so simply
1872.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 183
tragic. Alfieri's tragedy is the drop of deadly poison in a
ring; Schiller's is the same, diluted and drunk from a
silver-chased goblet. Schiller's is a very noble poem,
affluent in thought and diction, but too long and too in-
tricate for a tragedy. The real Tragic Muse hardly stops
to pluck so many flowers by the way.
I went down this morning to hear Professor Sophocles
lecture on Simon Magus. It was curious, — curt, sarcas-
tic, learned. He has found some rather new material
which the ready writers of the Biblical Dictionaries seem
to have overlooked ; but, virtually, it was the portrait I
have given in the Divine Tragedy. There were some
things, however, which I wish I had known before.
I am at this moment paying the penalty of exposure to
the bitter wind. It has pierced me with a thousand
spears, dried up my lungs, and parched my throat. Talk
of the east wind ! It is a benediction compared with this
west wind out there now, howling like a wolf, — though,
come to think of it, I never heard a wolf howl, only a
dog.
I have been reading to-day Maffei's Meropa. An inter-
esting subject; but such a style! The great Dryasdust
himself could hardly surpass it. Schlegel is unjust to
Alfieri; he emphasizes his defects, and seems not to see
his merits, — his force, his directness, the " still river that
runs deep " of his style.
27th. My sixty-fifth birthday, — and a bitter cold day
it is, which keeps me close indoors. Eead Schlegel's
lectures on the German Drama ; then a most interesting
and charmingly written book, Hermann Grimm's Life of
Michael Angelo.
28th. Indoors, reading Grimm. The book is very in-
teresting, though I think too much space is given to the
184 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1872.
political history of the time j at all events, I should have
been satisfied with less.
29th. Heard S. Eliot's lecture. He came home to
dine with me, and it was very pleasant.
March 2. Keep indoors, looking over Vasari's Lives of
the Painters. Write to Sumner and to Greene.
3d. Eead in Vasari and Benvenuto CelHni and Mrs.
Jameson's Italian Painters, and live in Italy in spirit, while
my poor body suffers here with a dismal cold. — In the
afternoon Howells came in with Bret Harte.
4th. Beading and making notes for Michael Angelo.
The subject attracts me ; but it is difficult to treat
dramatically, for want of unity of action and plot in
general.
15th. I have long neglected this record. The last ten
days have been filled with Michael Angelo. I have made
many notes, and written one Act, — the scenes between
him and Benvenuto and Sebastian, — and sketched others.
I shall have as hard a time in casting this statue as Ben-
venuto had in casting his Perseus ; but it promises fair,
and I am in no hurry. I want it for a long and delight-
ful occupation. I have written the close, or epilogue.
17th. Have Ascanio Condivi's Life of Angelo; also
Halford's, which has an engraving of Sebastian's portrait
of Vittoria.
31st. This is a melancholy Easter Sunday. The
ground is white with snow, the thermometer at freezing,
the wind northeast, and a sleety rain falling. — In Michael
Angelo I have now written [six scenes] ; others are to be
interspersed and added.
To G. W. Greene.
March 31, 1872.
What has put it into my head, I do not know, but
I was thinking just now of Empoli, famous in Tuscan
1872.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 185
annals and Storie Fiorentine. We passed through it after
dark. The station was ablaze with lights. It sounded
strangely to hear the conductor of the train cry : " Em-
poli ! " and a boy selling cakes and fruit repeat over and
over again, " Aranci, cigari, paste, pane, mele ! " What a
contrast with Farinata's fiery speech in the days of old !
If you can tell by what possible association this comes
to mind, you can do more than I can.
April 3. A wedding in St. John's Church, close by us.
An April day of cloud and sunshine ; but in the prayer,
as the clergyman said " Send down thy blessing upon
them," the sun burst from the clouds and poured through
the high windows of the choir a flood of golden light
upon the bride and bridegroom.
4th. Arranged my books upstairs. Governor Claflin
called, with President Eaymond of Vassar College, — a
female college at Poughkeepsie.
5th. Went to town to give Ernest a sitting. Saw
Hazeltine's bust of me, made in Eome in 1869, — a clever
piece of work, I should say.
6th. Went to the Lifting Cure. Sat to Ernest.
10th. Field of Philadelphia, Fields of Boston, and
Lowell dined with us at our Wednesday family dinner.
12th. Have put a balustrade on the bank in front of
the house. Do not half like it.
18th. Finished ' San Silvestro,' in Michael Angelo. I
have now written seven acts or parts of the work ; but
some of the most important are still to come. In the
evening went with Mrs. F. to hear the German poet. Dr.
Jordan, recite his Nibelungen.
May 4. The Three Books of Song is going to press at
once. First edition to be ten thousand copies.
5th. A dreary day. Paced up and down the veranda,
186 JOUENAL AND LETTERS, [1872.
but took no long walk. — Horace Greeley is nominated by
the Cincinnati Convention as candidate for the Presidency
in opposition to General Grant !
6th. I take this time of Greene's visit for a good rest,
neither writing nor reading.
10th. A lovely day, full of sunshine, blossoms, and
sweet, sad memories.
11th. Greene departs, and I am left solitary, to resume
the old tasks.
12th. Wrote a short poem on ' Charlemagne ' from a
story in an old chronicle, Be Factis Caroli Magni, quoted
by Cantii, Storia degli Italiani, ii. 122. I first heard it
from Charles Perkins in one of his lectures.
To G. W. Gree-ne.
May 14, 1872.
After you left me on Saturday, I beguiled a part of* the
dull day by reading the last book of the Iliad in Cesarotti's
translation. This reading confirms me in my theory of
translation. In Cesarotti you see Homer, — the very man
you are looking for. Sometimes his prose runs almost
into hexameters.
Yesterday I received a beautiful bouquet of tea-roses
from Mr. A and Miss W , in memory of their
visit. I also wrote a poem on the descent of Charlemagne
into Italy, from an old Latin chronicle, — a very striking
incident. It will find a place — indeed, has already found
a place — in Michael Angelo; you will not see how nor
where, but I do.^ Soon after you were gone, came a note
from Mrs. Fields, inviting us to dine with her after hear-
ing Emerson on Monday.
1 This poem, ' Charlemagne,' found a place, not in Michael Angelo,
but in the third part of the Wayside Inn.
1872.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 187
18tL Finished 'Santa Anna dei Funari' in Michael
Angelo; and that finishes the poem, the third part being
already written. So the poem in its first form is complete ;
but other scenes will be intercalated. I began it March 6.
19th. Eead Miss Preston's translation oiMireio,a, Pro-
venqal poem by Fr^d^ric Mistral, — a truly lovely and
wonderful poem. I wish I had the original. Why did
no one put it into my hands in France? It is very
pathetic and captivating.
25th. My Three Books of Song published to-day.
Club dinner. Admiral Stedman, Julian Hawthorne, and
Mr. Aldrich were the guests. In the evening J. 0.
29th. The lUacs in full bloom, and a certain sadness
in the air. Eead Mr. Watt's Fra JEgypternes Zand. In
the afternoon heard Charles Perkins's closing lecture on
Italian Art.
June 1. Eead parts of Oehlenschlager's Helge, and also
Mr. Watt's account of his visit to the Craigie House, "Et
Besog hos Henry Longfellow," in For Bomantih og Historie,
with a portrait having the shoulders up to the ears. I
confess I do not like to have my private conversations
reported in print.
To G. W. Greene.
Jtme 4, 1872.
On reading the liae in your letter about your reluctance
to touch an Italian theme, there came swimming into the
twilight of memory, like a planet, a sentence from Locke,
which I have remembered ever since my college days :
" Thus the ideas, as well as the children, of our youth often die
before us ; and our minds represent to us those tombs to which we
are approaching, where, though the brass and marble remain, yet the
inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away."
That little flower of rhetoric blooms for me far back in
my Junior year.
188 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1872.
To C. E. Norton.
June 19, 1872.
As soon as I received your last letter I acted upon it
without a moment's delay. I wrote a line or two in the
evening to Karl Witte, and the next morning sent a large-
paper copy of the Divine Comedy. . . . Your description
of him is very interesting, and makes me regret that I did
not go to Halle to visit him and see his Dante collection,
as you did. — I suppose you have not yet seen Miss Eos-
setti's Shadow of Dante, — it is an excellent book, which
you will like. ' Lowell has a review of it in the next North
American. — Cambridge is now in its glory of leaves and
blossoms, and awaits your return with impatience.
21st. Class-day, and very hot. A call from Eear-
Admiral Polo de Bernab^, the Spanish Minister, and An-
tonio Flores, Minister of Ecuador ; they stayed to dinner
with me, and we had a good deal of pleasant chat. In
the evening I walked with the girls in the College grounds
to hear the music.
25th. Went with E., A. and B. to the Peace Jubilee in
Gilmore's Coliseum, and heard the English, French, and
Prussian bands. They aU played beautifully.
July 2. At last an east wind ! Welcome a thousand
times !
5th. Came down to ISTahant for the summer, — every-
thing as of old'. A lovely afternoon, the air perfect and
most delightful.
6th. Get things to rights, and read Les Nilces de Maza-
rin [by Amedee Een^e], — a very iateresting book, which
I read fifteen years ago, and have not looked at since.
1872.] LETTERS. 189
From T. G. Appleton.
Newpoet, July 19, 1872.
Deae H., — Your last jolly letter has been received
and appreciated. All you say of the little joker, the
Mercury, is but too true. He has no station like his rela-
tive in ' Hamlet,' and he moves about under the finger of
Apollo as he does under ours, ever dodging and elusive.
But I have a little fellow here who has ways of his own, —
a Mercury that cannot be got to go above 74° ; and a quar-
relsome couple that are ever reversing their orders, — the
old fellow plunging out in fair weather, and the lady
without an umbrella risking it in the rain. Evidently a
German toy, made to sell, and one of the dark manoeuvres
of the Black Forest.
E. seemed much afflicted at my infidelity to Nahant.^
But Nahant must have had an easy victory over Newport
this year as to heat, — especially our delightful viUa, with
the fresh strike of the southwest from the water. But
now it is much cooler, and I do not think we shall have
broilers, as before ; yet I am preparing to get out of these
seas of sleep to the crisp dancing of our clearer water. I
do not now often go beyond Benton's Eeef ; once to Block
Island, — to me always before an isle of mystery, and now
known to be like many another, though so solitary and
alone. We lounge up the Sound and see the sunsets,
— often a splendid bonfire made from the remnants of a
fog. Last evening we spent at Mrs. E. H 's, with
Miss [Charlotte] Cushman and the L s. It is a pleas-
ant thing sitting in the moonlight, with flats all about
like opera decorations, and such good talk as Miss Cush-
man commands. Mrs. H told me that, to decorate
her hemicycle and relieve her too much green, she painted
1 Mr. Appleton had built himaelf a house in Newport.
190 JOURNAIi AND LETTERS. [1872.
some of her chairs red, herself j and presently a scarlet
fever broke out among all the outdoor chairs of the coun-
try ; and now in Connecticut they prepare them red by
hundreds. Mrs. L is in constant delight contem-
plating the study Dante, which she has on a little table
by itself. I hope you have secured [the pieces of] the
Dante coffin, and I am curious to hear what you will do
with them, — leave them as they are, or imprison them in
gold and precious stones.^
Queer ! I have had but one chowder this summer. It
is like some Burgundies, — it must be tasted only where
the codfish are plucked. I do not care for it in Boston,
and here it has but a faint relish ; but at Nahant — every
day, and two helps ! That will do for talk, now.
Yours affectionately,
T. G. Appleton.
25th. I always find the seaside a very idle, and there-
fore a very restless, place. I must have myself tied into
my chair, as Alfieri used to do, or I can accomplish
nothing.
30th. A northeastern storm is raging, — no steam-
boat, no possibility of going to the post-office. We are
embargoed.
To J. T. Fields.
Nahant, August 22, 18Y2.
The masked batteries of the clouds have opened upon
us again to-day, and I write this under fire. The house
leaks like a friend to whom you have confided an important
secret ; and altogether the aspect of things is lugubrious.
1 Some bits of the coffin, discovered in 1865, had been sent to
Mr. Longfellow from Mr. T. B. Lawrence, United States Consul-
General in Italy.
1872.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 191
Sumner and Greene have both departed, each taking up
his burden of care which he had laid down for a little
while ■ and I have at length leisure to thank you for your
letter of last week and Mr. Lea's of this. His communi-
cation is very interesting and curious. At all events it
shows how old the song is, and quite cuts off the claims of
the young Lochinvar of the West who wants to run away
with the Muse.i Owen has found in Cambridge a lady
who says that her mother taught her those lines in her
childhood ; and another who says they were written by —
Abraham Lincoln!
September 1. Sumner comes down. He is quite over-
worked, and has made up his mind to go to Europe on
Tuesday next.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
Nahant, September 3, 1872.
The interruption of many visitors has prevented me
from thanking you sooner for your beautiful poem. I
have read it and re-read it with great pleasure. It is
simple and tender, as an Idyl should be, particularly an
'Idyl of the Shakers.'
I have long thought that a poem could be drawn from
their strange and unnatural lives of self-surrender and
seclusion from the world. They are the Protestant Monks
and Nuns. You have treated the theme with great deH-
1 The communication, had reference to the song put into the mouth
of the Cobbler of Hagenau, in the second part of the Wayside
Inn, —
" Onr ingress into the world
Is naked and bare," etc,
A youth had written from the West to say that he was the author of
the lines. They have been attributed to Franklin, and are found in
print in an English -work, Eccentricities of John Edwin, 1791.
192 JOURNAL AND LETTEES. [1873.
cacy and sympathy, — the only way in which such a
theme can be treated.
You must soon be going home. I wish I were ; and yet,
before closing this establishment, where the "sea-views
are unrivalled, and charges moderate," I hope to be hon-
ored by your presence and that of your husband.
We remain here till that indefinite period known as
"the middle of next week."
Till then, and afterwards,
Yours truly.
8th. Eead. some of Haweis's sermons. He is a very
liberal divine of the Church of England. Also some
parts of Biichner's Origin of Man, — a Darwinian book.
10th. T. and Kensett sail over to Taft's in the cold
gray weather to dine on birds. Taft's and the hospital
opposite and the gulf between them are an illustration of
Dives and Lazarus, — Dives faring sumptuously every
day, and the sea-tides comiug and licking the sores of
Lazarus.
14th. Eetum to Cambridge.
21st. "Went to see the Mayor and intercede for the
Whitfield elm, which is to be cut down.
22d. In the afternoon Fields comes, and Joaquin
Miller, the California poet, — a rather wild, but to me
very interesting, personality. They stay to dinner.
24th. Hear that the Whitfield elm has been cut down.
Cambridge has an ill renown for destroying trees.
25th. Pleasant readings of Horace every morning with
Edith and Greene.
28th. Christus published to-day, in three volumes.
October 1. Called on Dr. Hedge at his house on North
Avenue to welcome him to Cambridge as Professor of
German in the College.
1872.] JOUKNAL AND LETTERS. 193
2d. Hedge, Palfrey, Howells, and Eobert Dale Owen
to dinner.
3d. Signor Mario, the famous tenor, called, with Signor
Marzo, of Naples.
To G. W. Greene.
October 8, 1872.
If you have forgotten it, you will be pleased to be re-
minded that Horace mentions the Craigie House in Ode
XXI. of the First Book. He speaks of it as the viridis
Cragi, in which Diana takes delight, — that is, on which
the moonlight lingers. To-night her face is rather clouded
as she looks across the meadows. How splendidly Au-
tumn begins to tread his wine-press ! The creepers round
the seat in the old apple-tree have assumed the shape
of two magnificent bay horses, or red-bronze horses
rather; the eyes being formed by hollows in the old
trunk. I delighted in them for an hour to-day, pacing
the veranda after the rain.
Nothing from Sumner yet. He is as silent as Grant,
and I am as garrulous as Greeley, having already written
him three letters. Mr. [George] Macdonald is here, and
lectures on Burns next Thursday at Cambridgeport.
10th. The evening at Mr. George Macdonald's lecture
on Burns. After lecture he with his wife and son supped
with me.
13th. Heard Dr. Hedge preach an excellent sermon on
the Eeal and the Ideal. Looked over Eckermann's Con-
versations. Was pleased to find Goethe's hearty praise
of Manzoni, particularly his Promessi Sposi, which I had
forgotten.
16th. Went to Eubinstein's concert. He is a superb
player on the pianoforte. Equally good on the violin was
13
194 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1873.
Wieniowsky. Wonderful masters of their instruments
both. Eubinstein looks like Beethoven.
19th. Called on Professor Tyndall ; a very lively,
agreeable man. He is lecturing on Light at the Lowell
Institute. On my way out stopped to see Agassiz, who
has just returned from the Pacific.
20th. Sunday. A walk in Mount Auburn, — a sad
place. Then called upon Aldrich, who has Lowell's house
[Elmwood] during his absence.
23d. The " Hecla " telegraphed. We ordered the car-
riage and drove in to the steamer. We were just in
time. We drive home very happy.
To 6. W. Greene.
Oct»ber 24, 1872.
I forgot to say that Dr. S 's object in writing to
me, an " entire stranger," is to get a professorship at Cor-
nell, or some other university, in order to pursue his
studies in comparative philology " in the manner of Max
Miiller's method, without hindrance." He further says :
" I should be happy to contribute to the sciential develop-
ment of a country that produces men like James Gordon
Bennett and Henry M. Stanley."
I received the other day a valuable and curious present
from England, — namely, Coleridge's inkstand ; ^ and only
wish he had left some of his poems in it. It is an ob-
long ebony tray, with two glass flacons for the ink Inlaid
between them is a small ivory plate, with the inscrip-
tion, — Samuel Taylor Coleridge, his inkstand. I fear that
the bronze owl which now adorns the centre of my study-
table will have to give place to this interesting relic.
^ A gift from Mr. S. C. Hall, of London, who had received it from
Mr. Gilman, in whose house at Highgate Coleridge spent his last
years.
1872.] JOUUNAL AND LETTERS. 195
I have been reading lately Goethe's Tag und Jahres
Hefte, and Schiller's Correspondence with Korner. Taken
together, they give a very different view of Goethe from
the one usually given, and show a man not holding him-
self apart from others, but longing for sympathy, and
very lenient in his judgments. Schiller and Korner do
not spare his weaknesses. Extracts from these and simi-
lar works would make the best life of Goethe. All that
is tedious could be left out.
25th. Tyndall's closing lecture, on the invisible rays
of the sun. Illustrated by brilliant experiments.
26th. An influenza is raging among the horses. They
are all ill, and nearly all communication with Boston is
cut off. We persuade the stable-keeper to let us have a
carriage for town to-night. He promises the only two
horses that are not disabled. Drive in with Agassiz and
President Eliot to dine with Tyndall at Mr. Lowell's.
A pleasant dinner.
27th. Try to read Festus. I cannot do it ; it bafHes,
eludes, and tires me. It is too chaotic, too shapeless.
Eead Corneille's La Place Boyale; and two Proverbes of
Alfred de Musset, — Un Gajprice, and II faut qu'une parte.
To G. W. Greene.
October 27, 1872.
Here is a bold rhyme from a new poet. What would
the Academy say to it, — if there were an Academy ?
" A pencilled shade the sky doth sweep,
And transient glooms creep in to sleep
Amid the orchard ;
Fantastic breezes pull the trees
Hither and yon, to vagaries
Of aspect tortured."
196 JOUKNAL AND LETTERS. [1872.
Hood and Horace Smith would have delighted in it. But
you will think that Pegasus has caught the influenza
, now prevailing among the horses. This influenza has cut
us off from Boston almost entirely. It has thrown Cam-
bridge back to where it was forty years ago. Our city
has become once more a remote and quiet village. To
me the feeling is delightful. I think of the army of in-
vaders unable to cross the bridge, and I enjoy their dis-
comfiture and my repose. Alas, it is only a momentary
triumph !
" L'onde s'enfle deasous, et d'un commun effort
Les Maures et la mer entreront dans le port."
For Maures read Bores, and by port understand Cam-
bridgeport.
You will see by this quotation that I have just been
reading Corneille's Oid. It is in the grand style, — a
strong and effective tragedy. It made me think of Cooper
by its rude power and a certain force and roughness.
28th. It is astonishing how all things are brought to
a standstill by this horse-distemper. It would seem al-
most as if the world were turned by horse-power. Drove
to Brookline with Mr. and Mrs. Agassiz to lunch at Mr.
Winthrop's with Professor Tyndall. I sat. next to Eev.
Mr. Brooks, who has just returned from Sweden and
Eussia.
30th. It came into my head to-day to read Ossian,
which I have not looked into for forty years or more, —
the strange rhapsody, " Did not Ossian hear a voice ? Or
was it the sound of the days that are no more ? " It is
full of the figures of the mist and rain that shroud the
northern shores of Scotland and Ireland, and cannot be
wholly a forgery.
1872.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 197
November 2. Passed the morning in hanging pictures, —
changing them about ; the afternoon in walking ; the even-
ing in reading "Weber's analysis of the Nihdungen Lied,
with translations, and Bonnet's Olympia Morata.
10th. W. comes in at breakfast, and says there was
a great fire in Boston last night. It proves to be a ter-
rible fire, and is still raging among the largest and finest
warehouses in the city.
11th. A soft Indian-summer day ; went to the funeral
of my old friend Charles Folsom, in the chapel of Mount
Auburn.
To G. W. Greene.
November 13, 1872.
This is a pretty serious calamity, this fire in Boston.
Everybody seems to have lost something who had any-
thing to lose. . . . You may depend upon it, there is
nothing perfectly secure but poverty.
I had a letter yesterday from Sumner in London. He
says he has not read an American newspaper since he
went away ; but some idiotic friend has sent him articles
which stir him up to wrath. He will soon return to
find — what? His party defeated,
" Et cnncta terrarum suljaota,
Preeter atrocem animum Catonis ; "
that is to say, his own intrepid mind.
I lunched to-day at Winthrop's, to meet Froude [the
historian], — a very quiet, pleasant gentleman, whom I
like much. I have not yet heard any of his lectures.
23d. One of the loveliest mornings. There was rain
in the night, and it is frozen on the veranda roofs in ferns
and stars. The birds are singing as if they thought spring
198 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1873.
had come; the air is exhilarating. Greene arrives from
Ehode Island. We dine with T.
24th. A quiet day at home. More talking than
walking.
27th. Eead Gibbon's Autobiography ; also Fitzgerald's
translation of the Hippolytus of Euripides. A modern
application of this classic tale might be made effective.
30th. Too Ul with cold to go to Club dinner, and so
lost the opportunity of proposing Agassiz's welcome home
with a speech.
December 1. Eead Carlyle's account of Voltaire in the
Frederic, — very amusing.
5th. Eead Forster's Dickens, volume second. Very
interesting. The most restless of mortals, — no repose in
anything ; always at full speed. It is a wonder that he
lived so long.
7th. Eead Nichol's Hannibal, — an historic drama ;
then, looking over the Publishers' Circular, I saw, in Long-
mans' list, Hannibal in Italy, an Historical Drama, by
W. Forsythe. I have often noticed this kind of duality
in literary work. Are thoughts and themes in the air,
like an epidemic ? Benedict, of London, and Paine, of
Cambridge, have both just completed oratorios of St.
Peter.
To G. W. Greene.
December 19, 1872.
Your letter of yesterday is like a bucket of water poured
into a dry pump, and forthwith sets the valves at work
again. The cold I took when you were here has lasted
till now, and made me rather disinclined to do any-
thing but read. I have only written to my enemies, — the
worst of all enemies, the " entire strangers " who ask ques-
tions that it takes a day's research to answer. Marforio
1873.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 199
was here yesterday, and stayed three hours ; hut the day
before, Pasquino stayed five : so I forgave Marforio, though
he left all his sentences unfinished. It is my own fault,
I know ; and I seem to hear the words of Demosthenes :
" How would you comport yourself in weightier concerns
if you cannot turn off an impertinent babbler, but suffer
the eternal trifler to walk over you without telling him,
' Another time, good sir ; at present I am in haste ! ' "
Among my readings is that of Thorwaldsen's Life and
Works, by Eugene Plon. Not very well written, but ex-
tremely interesting, and illustrated with thirty-five wood-
engravings of the great master. It is like a dream of
Eome. You will be afraid to read it ; and yet you must.
23d. A snowstorm. Eead, and write letters, — I be-
gin to think I shall never write anything else.
24th, E. and A. go to Portland to pass the Christmas
holidays with their cousins at Highfield. In the afternoon
Carl Schurz calls, and stays to dinner.
To G. W. Greene.
Cheistmas, 1872.
M-ultos et felices ! " Many happy returns ! " as a young
lady of your acquaintance here said to a friend who was
just engaged, — not knowing what else to say. Multos et
felices ! — a coin pretty well worn, and somewhat wasted.
One may say, as St. Peter in Paradiso says of Faith : —
" — assai bene e trascorsa
D' esta moneta gii la lega e '1 peso."
And I reply, like Dante, —
" — 1' ho si lucida e si tonda
Che nel suo conio nulla mi s' inforsa."
And such I send it to you. Unluckily no unsentimental
grocer will receive it.
200 LETTERS. [1872.
Carl Schurz came to see me yesterday, and stayed to
dinner. He said a good deal about Sumner, and thinks
he feels keenly the action of the Massachusetts Legisla-
ture.i Well he may ; for it was vindictive and brutal.
Schurz thinks that Sumner's health is in a perilous condi-
tion, and regrets that he brought forward his Battle-flag
resolution just now, when not well enough to support it.
The subject, he thinks, is sure to be called up immediately
after the holidays. Sumner is writing a speech to sustain
his motion, and Schurz offers to read it for him and fight
the battle sure to follow. Once more, muUos etf dices!
To G. W. Greene.
December 28, 1872.
For two days past I have had trouble in my left eye, —
a kind of network before it, or, as Dr. Johnson might say,
" something reticulated or decussated at equal distances,
with interstices between the intersections ; " ^ moreover, a
great display of fireworks, sparks, and shooting-stars,
" Quante il villan . . .
Vede lucciole giu per la vallea."
This is by no means pleasant ; but it shall not prevent me
from thanking you for your letter.
I rejoice that you agree with me about Sumner's motion
on the Battle-flags. I shall let him know what you
* Mr. Sumner had introduced in the United States Senate a reso-
lution providing that for the sake of "national unity and good- will,"
and in accordance with the usage of civilized nations, " the names of
battles with fellow-citizens [in the recent Civil War] should not be
placed upon the regimental colors" of the National Army. His
position was misrepresented, and condemned in resolutions of the
Massachusetts Legislature. These were subsequently rescinded, just
before Mr. Sumner's death, in 1874.
''■ This is the definition of "network" given in Johnson's Dic-
tionary.
1872.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 201
think of it, as it will comfort him, and you have not time
to write to him just now, I suppose. I saw the account
of Putnam's death in the paper, but said nothing about it
to you, not wishing to come with black sails, apd thinking
that you would see it in your journal. This cold weather
is very disconsolate. Sitting at dinner yesterday, I thought
of you, and wished we were both at Amalfi. I had a
vision of sunshine and a sapphire sea, which sent the
nimble Mercury up many rounds of his ladder in the
thermometer.
30th. Eesumed the Wayside Inn, and put in order the
Prelude and First Tale of Part Third.
CHAPTER XI.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1873-1874.
Jarmary 1. Dined at 39 Beacon Street. How the old
days come back to me; terribly distinct! Every corner
of the house has its memory.
3d. A thaw in the night. At four o'clock, drip, drip,
drip. I got up two or three times, and finally dressed
myself at five; lighted my study-lamp, and strangely
enough some passages for 'Michael Angelo and Titian'
came into my mind. What spirit was abroad at that
hour dictating to mel
5th. Look into Victor Hugo's Annie Terrible. It
seems to me violent rather than forcible.
16th. Here are the first seven lines of the Hiad, which
I have put into hexameters, — though with no intention
of going farther: —
Sing, 0 Goddess, the wrath of Peleidean Achilles,
Baleful, that brought disasters uncounted upon the Achaians.
Many a gallant soul of heroes iiung into Hades,
And the heroes themselves as a prey to the dogs and to all the
Fowls of the air ; for thus the will of Zeus was accomplished ;
From the time when first in wrangling parted asunder
Atreus' son, the monarch of men, and godlike Achilles.
21st. I have now three tales finished of the Third Part
of the Wayside Inn, with Prelude and Interludes.
February 19. This morning I counted the letters to be
answered on my table. They are fifty-two. Thus is my
1873.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 203
life riddled to pieces. Nevertheless, I have now com-
pleted six tales of the new volume.
27th. My sixty-sixth birthday. Finished the new
volume of the Wayside Inn,^ and close the book.
April 3. Translated from the Spanish of CastiUejo the
little ditty, Alguna vez, —
" Some day, some day,
0 troubled breast,
Shalt thou tind rest," etc.
5th. S. Eliot's lecture on European Eevolutions of
'48 and '49. Mr. S came out with Mr. and Mrs.
Blackburn, of England. He gave me his book. Artists
and Arabs.
To Ferdinand Freiligrath.
April 5, 1873.
I am deeply touched and grieved by the melancholy
tidings you send me.^ These are the sorrows to which all
others are as nothing. They change us. We can never
be again what we were before, though we may seem so to
the eyes of others. But we know that a part of ourselves
is gone, and cannot come back again. I will not attempt
to console you, — that is useless; but I suffer with you,
and share your affliction.
Mrs. D and her daughters, to whom you have
been so kind, and who are so grateful for all your kind-
ness, write with the deepest sympathy, and speak of your
son as "dear Otto Freiligrath." I never saw him; yet
from this expression, and his photograph, and his brother
Wolfgang, I have a picture of him in my mind, and feel
what your loss must be.
All this will not comfort you ; but I know you wiU be
courageous, and bear the inevitable with resignation.
1 It was begun December 30. ' Of the death of his son.
204 JOURNAL. [1873.
July 12. NaMnt. I had a dream last night of meet-
ing Tennyson at a hotel ia some Italian town. He was
elegantly dressed, and had the easy manners of a man of
the world. He said he was going to the opera. While
we were talking, C. came in, looking like a German boy
of fourteen.
13th. Dreamed last night that I was at a dinner-party
at Mr. W 's. To reach the dining-room we had to
pass through a carpenter's shop, climb out of a window,
and go over a roof. Among the guests was the Eev. Mr.
, dressed as a woman in white.
14th. Dreamed last night that I was talking to the
Emperor Napoleon, who asked me if I remembered the
portrait which the Princess Charlotte — his cousin, and
wife of his brother Charles — drew of me in her album at
Florence in 1828.
18th. A northeastern storm. A pigeon flew into my
room and flapped round my head, then perched on my
shoulder, then on the back of a chair, where it sat wink-
ing. When put out of the window it returned again. It
is the lost pet of somebody.
September 17. Eeturned from Nahant.
18th. Mr. Charles Warren Stoddard, a young Calif or-
nian poet, called.
25th. Three German professors called.
28th. Sumner at dinner. More nervous than at Na-
hant. I urge him not to lecture.
29th. A call from four Englishmen; [among them]
Mr. Charles Bead, M.P., and the Dean of Canterbury.
November 13. Wrote a sonnet on Milton.
15 th. Wrote a sonnet on Shakespeare.
16th. Wrote a sonnet on Chaucer.
1873.] LETTERS. 205
From Samuel Ward.
Brkvookt House, December 27, 1873.
Dearest L., — The rain that fell when we parted yes-
terday has not yet dried upon your steps, which I have
so often ascended with joy, and always gone down with
regret ; and here is " Monsieur Tonson come again."
The line I was trying to recall is the one about which
Horace Walpole lost a bet of a guinea to Pulteney in the
House of Commons. It is : —
" Nil conscire sibi ; nullst pallescere culpl." ^
Walpole quoted it " nuUae pallescere culpae ; " Pulteney
corrected him, won the wager, and the identical guinea is
in the family of the winner.
Your lovely poem [' The Hanging of the Crane '] made
music all night in the car. The omission of those dra-
matic contrasts which render the Glocke song [Schiller's
'Bell'] so exciting, makes your masterpiece soothing and
tender, almost to idyllism.
I cannot tell you how your noble devotion to poor
has warmed my heart. But for my physical health, which
sustains my exertions, I should be as wretched as he is,
without a tithe of the merit he possesses of conscientious
work.
I think your poem will make people better and happier,
and I long to see it a part and parcel of hiiman posses-
sions. I do not know what your terms are with the
Atlantic ; but I think my trotting friend Bonner, of the
New York Ledger, would pay two guineas a line for it. I
make the suggestion in view of your charities and the
constant demand upon your purse.
1 Horace, Epistles I. i. 61.
206 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
December 28, 1873.
Accept, I beg you, my best thanks for your kind re-
membrance at Christmas, and the gift of Keats's photo-
graph.1 What a pathetic face ! It is sad to see, and yet
most interesting. Severn I saw in Eome in 1869, — a
prosperous gentleman, with buff waistcoat and bright
buttons. I dare say you knew him, — perhaps had the
picture from him.
With all kinds of good wishes for endless Christmases
and New Years.
January 1, 1874. The New Year's greetings, — the
flowers and other presents. — Finish the scene, ' In Fra
Bastiano's Garden,' for Michael Angelo. This will give
variety.^
3d. Bought the beautiful edition of Milton, " carefully
printed from the Author's copies," by Bickers & Son,
1851.
4th. Fields comes out, and I read to him ' The Hang-
ing of the Crane.' He advises not to publish in any
periodical, but to make a small illustrated volume of it.
5th. In the afternoon Mr. Boyesen calls. He is just
returned from Europe, and is hurrying to his professorship
at Cornell. He reports Hans Christian Andersen as very
ill.
6th. Wrote ' In the Coliseum,' — a scene for Angelo.
Bead in the Souvenirs of Mme. Vig^e le Brun, — a light,
lively book by this beautiful artist.
7th. T. and N. A. at dinner, at which was served a
Stilton cheese sent from Clifton, England.
^ A copy of a head by Severn, Keats's friend.
''■ This scene was afterward rejected as " jarring with the tone of
the poem.'' It introduced Rabelais.
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 207
9th. Cut down a great elm-tree at the carriage-gate,
which seemed dangerous, and threatened to fall into the
street. It was a pang to me.
14th. Wrote ' Michael Angelo and Titian.'
16 th. Finished reading the Divina Commedia with E.
Worked a little on the Monologues of Michael Angelo, and
translated his sonnet on the death of Vittoria Colonna.
20th. The days are miserably like each other when
one is shut up in the house. Eead Hertz, the Danish
poet's drama of Svend Dyring's Huns, which is very good.
22d. To-day I have been reading Eabelais, which, I
confess, wearies me.
To G. W. Greene.
January 29, 1874.
I have submitted the 'Hanging of the Crane' to the
microscopic eye of J. 0. The result is, that " the sound
of se — as in scene, celestial, Ceylon, and so forth — occurs
thirty-two times," so that the production may be called
" II bel poema W dove il si suona."
Since you were here I have dined only once a week ; all
the rest is bread and milk, — a diet on which I thrive as
if I were in my second childhood. I make the same
apology for it that Michael Angelo did for writing s,onnets
in his old age : " Messer Giorgio, amico caro, voi direte ben
ch' io sia vecchio e pazzo a voler far sonetti ; ma poich^
molti dicono ch' io son rimbambito, ho voluto far 1' uficio
mio." This reminds me that I have added a new scene to
the Angelo, — namely, ' Messer Michele in the Street with
Bindo Altoviti,' — and have interspersed several sonnets of
M. A. in other parts, which I think has a good effect.-'
1 These were afterward omitted. The quotation from Michael
Angelo is : " Master George, dear friend, you may well say that I am
208 JOURNAL. [1874i.
30th. Translated another sonnet of M. A. Looked
over Duparc's very interesting sketch of Eegnault, the
young French painter killed in the siege of Paris in 1871,
" victime de la derniere heure et du dernier comhat."
February 1. Comfortably indoors, reading Eegnault's
Correspondence, — a fiery genius, who did great things in
painting, and promised greater.
6 th. Lunched in town to meet Miss L , an Eng-
lish lady devoted to hospitals. She is the most attractive
philanthropist I ever met. In the evening completed the
scene in Angelo in which he takes Vittoria's portrait. The
work is now finished, saving always revision. I do not
see what other scene can be added.^
17th. Called upon Charles Kingsley and his daughter.
19th. The Kingsleys dined with us.
I have forgotten to record Mr. Gill's elegant banquet to
Wilkie Collins at the St. James Hotel.
20th. Dined with Mr. A in a new and elegant
house in Marlborough Street. Young people, who gave an
old dinner-party. None of the guests were under sixty.
Looking down the table was like a distant view of the
Alps from the Jura.
21st. Wnkie Collins and T. dined with us.
22d. Sam Ward came to lunch. He has negotiated
with Bonner for the ' Hanging of the Crane ' [for publica-
tion in the New York Ledger]. I am to have three thou-
sand dollars. It is a great sum. It was not my asking,
but his offer.
old and foolish to wish to make sonnets ; hnt since so many people
are saying that I am in my second childhood, I have chosen to fulfil
my office."
' Michael Angelo was begun on the 6th of March, 1872. " I want
it," he wrote, " for a long and delightful occupation.'' On the 18th
of May in that year he says : " The poem in its first form is com-
plete." But he continued to add new scenes from time to time. . Il
was not published till after his death.
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 209
24th. Drove to town with my dear old friend (rreene,
who goes back to East Greenwich after a short visit. I
am always glad when he comes, and sorry when he goes.
In the afternoon Miss B called with a Turk.
27th. My sixty-seventh birthday. These milestones
are so many that they begin to look like a graveyard.
28th. Club dinner at Parker's. On my right I had
Wilkie Collins, on my left the elder Dana, — the oldest
of the American poets.^
March 1. Eeceived two letters to-day, one from New
York, one from Yonkers on the Hudson, each beginning,
" Will you please tell me who was Evangeline, and what
country did she belong to ; also the place of her birth."
To G. W. Greene.
March 3, 1874.
I enclose you as pretty a piece of vituperation as one
sees in a twelvemonth. If I had not ceased to wonder at
anything in the newspapers, I should wonder that such
astounding language as this should have found its way
into the columns of the Tribune. I grieve over the bad
news which your letter brings me. I know how you
suffer when your children are ill. I trust, however, to
hear soon that all cause of anxiety has passed away. I
have written the new scene that you suggested for An-
gelo. I am not dissatisfied with it, and yet do not want
to add it.2 It seems to me better to leave the close a little
vague, than to give a tragic ending, — though that may
be the proper finis of the book.
What a debilitating day this has been! It is enough
to take away the strength of a whole family of athletes.
1 Then eighty-six years old. He died in 1879.
^ The new scene was Angelo's Death, and was afterward rejected.
14
210 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
Here is a gloomy [newspaper] paragraph for you. See
what barbarism may exist in the midst of culture and
civilization! "The last of the Paddock elms fell at a
quarter past nine o'clock yesterday morning, and there are
now no signs left of the old trees, except the smoothly cut
stumps, which are on a level with the sidewalk." ^ Pad-
dock, who planted these elms, was a Tory in the days of
the Bevolution. Could that have had anything to do
with it? I know not.
11th. Sad news from Washington, — of Sumner's
sudden illness and death: seized at ten last night with
angina pectoris; dead to-day at three!
To G. W. Ch-eem.
March 11, 1874,
The fatal news has come at last. You doubtless saw,
in your morning paper, the mention of Sumner's attack
last night. I had a telegram from Sam Ward, saying he
could not live through the day ; and now comes another
with the words : " Charles Sumner is dead."
I thought I was prepared by his frequent attacks for
this final one ; but I was not. It is terribly sudden and
unexpected to me, as it will be to you. I cannot write
more.
16th. Sumner's funeral. A bright morning. I heard
the first bluebirds singing.
1 The Paddock elms were ancient English elms in front of the
Granary Burying-ground in Tremont Street, whose pleasant green-
ness and shade were long missed. They were cut down by the city
authorities.
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 211
To J. B. Everhart.
March 31, 1874.
Many thanks for your beautiful poem, — beautiful not-
withstanding its subject, for which I have no sympathy.
I am so little of a sportsman that I rank fox-hunting with
bull-fighting, and think them equally detestable. You
will perhaps smile at this; but I never lose an opportunity
of entering my protest against all pleasures that spring
from the pain of dumb animals.
But I meant to thank you, not to preach to you ; and
again beg you to accept my thanks for your kindness in
sending me your book.
April 2. I have been trying to write something about
Sumner, but to little purpose. I cannot collect my
faculties.^
15th. Eeceived a Portuguese translation of 'Evange-
line' by Franklin Doria, published at Eio de Janeiro,
1874.
To G. W. Greene.
April 18, 1874.
Who shall write the Life of Sumner ?2 That is the
question that perplexes me. All his papers have arrived,
and we have a room devoted to them in Pemberton
Square. I am going in on Monday to examine them. I
dread it, but it must be done. It seems strange that I
must delegate to another the task of writing his Hfe ; but
I feel that I cannot do it. Ah, if you were only well
* The first draft of the poem 'Charles Sumner' is dated March
30. It was printed in the volume with ' The Masque of Pandora.'
^ It was afterward written, as is well known, by Mr. E. L.
Pierce.
212 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
enough for the work! Motley, too, is incapacitated by
ill-health, and has his own historic projects. Meanwhile
we shall have the materials arranged, and ready for use.
May 13. The great tragedian Salvini and his brother,
with Mme. Eudersdorff, dined with us. After dinner
Salvini read some scenes from Alfieri's Saul, — to the de-
light of us all, especially of Greene, who was here and
heard one of his favorite Italian authors beautifully
interpreted.
From J. L. Motley.
Hotel Bristol, Paris, May 16, 18Y4.
Mt deae Longfellow, — Your very kind letter of
April 23d reached me on the day before we left Cannes.
It was impossible for me, therefore, to reply sooner. Be-
lieve me that I am very deeply touched by your thinking
of me on this sad occasion of our dear Sumner's death.
That I should have been thought worthy by you and your
co-trustees of his literary estate to write his Life, I regard
as the highest honor that could be conferred on me. But
having said this, I can only add that I am, alas ! utterly
incompetent to the task. The strange and sudden seizure
which befell me at the end of last July has, I fear, put an
end to my working power ; at any rate, I have gained so
little by my search for health and strength at Cannes this
winter that it would be a fraud on my part to conceal
from you the hopelessness of my undertaking to perform
80 noble a service. It is with great difficulty that I am
writing this letter. I have but little use of my right hand
and arm; and to employ them for a few minutes only
exhausts my strength for the day. Pardon this egotism,
which perhaps was necessary in order to show that it was
not the will, but the power to comply with your rec[uest.
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 213
that is wanting. It is, indeed, a most bitter disappoint-
ment to me. Had I been able, however inadequately, to
do this work, it would have been a high gratification as
well as consolation to me in the grief which I feel for his
loss, — if I have a right to speak of my personal share in a
sorrow which is a national, and even wider than a national,
one. The value to the country of so pure and noble a
life, and of such magnificent and long-sustained labor to
such lofty ends, can scarcely be exaggerated. The nation
is honored which has given birth to such a man and kept
him in the public councils for a quarter of a century.
Most sincerely and affectionately your friend,
J. L. Motley.
29th. A lovely morning, just suited to the work I am
doing; that is, selecting from various writers poems of
places, to make a kind of poetic guide-book.
To G. W. Greene.
May 31, 1874.
I have been wanting to write to you for some time, but
have not found the happy moment. Between and
, the upper and nether millstones, I have been ground
to powder. Moreover, I have given the bright mornings
to the collection of Poems of Places, of which I once
spoke to you ; and a pleasant occupation it is, — travelling
in one's easy-chair, and making one's own poetic guide-
book. It is amazing what an amount of second and third
rate poetry there is in the world. It would be more
amazing if it were all first rate !
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, July 23, 1874.
In a late number of the Revue des Deux Mondes Laugel
has a very good article on Sumner, — have you seen it ?
214 LETTERS. [1874.
You will hardly be satisfied with it, perhaps, when you
come to the quarrel with the President [Grant], where he
tries to hold the historic scales very evenly, but does not
give weight enough to the provocation. I am glad you
are getting steadily on with your History. I want that
stone of Sisyphus rolled fairly over the hiU, and thunder-
ing down the other side.
I have been amusing myself with reading the Spectator.
How musical and sweet Addison is! Steele is a little
more sinewy in style, but far less charming. Good read-
ing, this, for a summer's day by the seaside, or a winter's
day by the fireside. I find the blaze and glare of sun-
shine here not very good for the eyes. This I make an
excuse for being idle. Professor Brunetta, of Verona,
wishes to make an interlinear translation of ' Evangeline,'
to be used as a school-book.
To G. W. Greene.
September 17, 18'74.
What cheer ? Here I am once more in the Craigie, —
comparatively speaking, a happy man. But so many
things lie in wait for me that I have hardly time to write
you these lines ; in fact, I had written only two of them
last evening, when Nichols and Owen appeared with the
Sumner proof-sheets,^ and we worked away at them tUl
half-past ten.
If, in your reading, you find any poems of places, do
not fail to make a note of them for me. The printers are
just beginning ' The Hanging of the Crane.' Some of the
illustrations [by Mary Hallock] are charming ; it will be
a pretty picture-book. The poem will be read by Mr.
WooUett on the 1st of October in the Bay State Course
of Lectures, and published on the 15th by Osgood & Co.
1 The proof-sheets of the collected Speeches, or Works, of Mr.
Sumner.
1874.] LETTERS. 215
This is all the news I have to tell yon, except that
Sumner's tenth volume is out. It closes with the speech
on Art in the National Capitol. The last sentence is
that pungent protest of Powers against giving great
national works to mere heginners.
From T. G. Ajppleton.
Hotel du Jardin, Paris, September, 1874.
Dear Henry, — Here am I again at the good little
hotel we liked so well before. Our young couple are no
longer here, — new people are in their place ; but the
house is as neat and well kept as before. Only you and
the girls are missing. How I wish you were all here to
see the new Paris since the war, and to enjoy the pictures
and the lovely Tuileries garden ! How pleasant it is to
take one's nice bread and butter and cnf^ au lait, and an
omelette such as only Paris prepares, and then go [into
the garden] and read one's Galignani under the trees, with
the children and birds all about, and the same old woman
coming for her sous! And the weather is so soft and
bright, and light with the same Ughrete the people have,
and which is perhaps the best thing about Paris.
I called, and found Marmier in. He was enchanted ;
and instantly presented me with a fine engraving and
Sdgur's work on 1812, and tore the map for me out of his
Swiss Guide, thiaking it better than Baedeker's. The
Bretonne showed her teeth and her earrings; and inquired
tenderly after you. I tried coffee and kirsch, and they
had the good old taste. Last evening he took me to see
his inseparable brave, old M. Thiers. The old gentleman
had been twenty-four hours the day before coming in the
train; and arriving at 6 A. M., sent at once for Marmier,
who found him as chipper as a bird. I was most kiudly
received, and stayed late, talking about everything, and
216 LETTERS. [1874.
he making many acute remarks. He spoke with regard
of Sumner and Seward ; and I ventured to describe the
dinner with Sumner, and touched on Seward's mistake in
saying that Mme. Thiers spoke English. " And so she
does," he said ; " but I do not." He is much pleased with
the compliments he gets from America, and talked much
about us. There were only a few present, so we two did
all the talking. A lady, one of the household, is a great
admirer of yours, and asked after you with interest.
Thiers has taken a handsome house, 45 Faubourg St.-
Honord.
I am glad that C. enjoyed his cruise in the " Alice." I
wish I had been of the party. Our yachting is much
nicer than the European, and I have nothing to envy
them. I wonder the girls don't write, and yet so fond of
it ; but the old are neglected for the young.
Ever affectionately yours,
T. G-. Appleton.
From T. G. Appleton.
Cadbnabbia ! ! October 3, 1874.
Dear Henry, — Does not the very name look pretty ?
Yes, there is no mistake, it is lovely ; and though now
the melancholy days are come, and I see its beauties
through rain like some lovely widow through her tears,
the rain may veil but cannot spoil them. We have had
this summer faultless weather; and now I fear that Aqua-
rius is making up his average, and it may hold a month.
But in a better sense I may say, " it never rains but it
pours ; " for I had all my letters sent here. And what a
shower of them I found ! I can only fire now one gun for
a broadside. So I send this to you, to parcel with affec-
tion and remembrance among all. I have letters from all
but A., and she must not be forgotten for that. The dar-
lings, how I love them all ! and my heart cries out for
1874.] LETTERS. 217
thein as do their letters for me. The yearning is but
accumulating fondness, and I mean to love them more
than ever when I come back. " On recule pour mieux
aimer." And when will that be ? I am now hunting for
a companion to go to Egypt with me, and he does not
turn up. Dear, good Gay has had his cake and eaten it,
and he can't go. and are to go ; but one is too
cross, and the other too noisy, for me. So if I get nobody,
— and my last chance will be in Paris, — I may bolt, and
be [in Boston] before you can say " Jack Eobinson." I do
not promise, but it may be yet. I am never fonder of
Boston than when I am farthest from it, — which shows
what a pull it has. I miss the whip in the sky, as the
liberated "West India blacks did, who had, for form's sake,
a slave-whip carried over them to remind them of the good
old times. I miss you all liere, as you can imagine. Yon-
der is our old balcony and its nest of rooms; the very
boatmen are the same, and the olive-complexion ed olive-
wood women, and the pillared trees which Ernest painted
so well, — and all these but make me miss my old party
the more. They seem more present than the one I now
have ; they belong more to Cadenabbia, and loved it first.
And yet my present party is a success. , who travels
in search of a digestion, is always nice and clever, — rather
prone to criticism, perhaps, and not with that big exclama-
tion mark behind her eyes which American girls have ;
and Mile. C is very practised and wise as a traveller,
and pleasant in every way. To them we have added Miss
H , who is brave and bright, a good sketcher, and even
a good climber, going up the Bel Alp and everywhere.
She was never before in Italy, and is wild about it.
Yesterday we took our first row, — we arrived only the
day before, — to Bellagio. There is a new hotel there;
great bustle, — the carriages flying about (we have no car-
riages at Cadenabbia), and great show and bother, which
218 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
made us the more prefer Cadenabbia. Our boatman was
Achille, and he grinned the old Come grin through his
five-days' beard. On Sunday, he says, he shaves for a
penny; I think he cheats his barber. We inquired of
him about the ayoni and the fish-nets and the little bells,
and found they were all right. The turn we took round
the corner toward Lecco made me remember the lovely
threatening rocks and their wealth of shrubbery. Putting
back as we reached Villa Giulia, we found that a Viennese
had bought it who would not let any one see it; and
Achille denounced the Tedesco with the traditionary hatred
of the Austrian. To-day is sheeted with rain, — soothing
and quiet after so much sun. The hotel is much improved ;
what was the dining-room is now a noble vestibule, mar-
ble steps, with flowers rising from the other end. It is
the perfection of comfort, without bother or display. But
the miracle of hotels is at Varese, not far off. There we
tarried for three days, and E. wanted to forever. It was
princely, from the impressively majestic landlord to the
clothes-brush, which seemed made only for royal shoulders.
There are some seven salons en suite, one lovelier than
the other ; and over a vast garden the eye runs down to
the Lago di Varese and the mountains beyond. If Mary
Anne Starke could revisit the Italy she once wrote about,
surely she would not recognize it.
I saw [in the papers] the death of Wyman,' and felt it
much ; he was a man of real value.
Affectionately,
T. G. Appleton.
October 25. Professor Bonamy Price, of Oxford, at
dinner, — a man of sixty, and a man of a thousand;
bright and elastic.
1 Jeffries Wyman, the anatomist, Curator of the Peabody Museum
of Archaeology at Harvard University.
1874.J LETTERS. 219
To G. W. Greene.
October 26, 1874.
I wish you could have heen here for the last few days.
I have had some curious experiences in national character.
On Saturday came an English gentleman with a letter of
introduction, and stayed to dinner. He was taciturn, re-
served, fastidious, and appeared to take little pleasure in
anything. He seemed to have no power of enjoyment.
On Sunday came another Englishman to dine; but of a
very different type, — expansive, hilarious, talking inces-
santly, laughing loud and long ; pleased with everything.
These were the two opposite poles of English character
and manners.
This afternoon came Parkman, asking for your address,
in order to send you his book, The Old E^gime in Canada.
I have just been reading Tasso's Aminta with E., who is
delighted with it. I think of taking up, now, the Pastor
Fido of Guarini, — unless you can suggest something
better.
Pain never kills any one, but is a most uncomfortable
bedfellow. But that, I trust, wiU soon be over, and you
will enter that convalescent state which is so pleasant.
To G. W. Gi-eene.
October 29, 1874.
I received this evening your wife's letter, and was de-
bating whether I should answer it at once, or finish first a
poem on the Terra di Lavoro [' Monte Cassino '] ; and while
T was debating, a felicitous termination of the poem slid
into my mind, and left me free to write to you without
hindrance.
I know how a man feels with toothache, with rheuma-
tism in the back, with neuralgia in the chest ; but how he
feels with his collar-bone broken, is to me a merciful mys-
220 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
tery, which I hope I shall never comprehend. I am afraid
that with all your morphine you will be in such a dreamy
state that letters and newspapers will have a vague and
far-off interest for you. Nevertheless, I write this, and
send you a paper, in which a poor, abused author makes
his melancholy complaint. He quotes all the unhand-
some epithets that have been applied to him ; and if you
are " sitting clothed and in your right mind," you wiU be
interested in his story. But why do I write in this light
vein while I am suffering with you, and feeling deeply
your distress ? I know not, unless it be that the ferment
of the mind sends up bubbles to the surface. You, who
know my rather effervescent nature, will not be pained by
it, though it is like laughing in church. But get well as
soon as you can, and let me hear good news of you.
31st. Lord Dufferin dined with me at the Saturday
Club.
To G. W. Greene.
October 31, 1874.
I am troubled to hear that you do not sleep. Better to
sleep among the poppies than not to sleep at all, — a dis-
agreeable alternative. But when your shoulder is once
strong again, you can more easily give up the narcotic.
I had a call to-day from Miles Standish, — not the old
hero, but one of his descendants ; a tall, handsome youth
from New York, who had been last evening at the Music
Hall to hear Mr. WooUett recite the ' Courtship ' of his
ancestor. This afternoon Lord Dufferin dined with me at
the Club. He is a charming person, and his wife more
charming still. I wish you could have seen them. Old
Mr. Dana was there, eighty-six years old, and apparently
good for ten years more, — though that is saying a great
deal. But I cannot 'keep my thoughts from you. Are
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETPERS. 221
physicians powerless to bring help ? In one of Dr.
Holmes's Essays, I find the enclosed prescription, which
win amuse you.
November 2. Began reading Petrarca with Edith.
5th. Harvard Association Concert. The finest pieces
were Chopin's Concerto in E minor and Beethoven's
Seventh Symphony.
To G. W. Greene.
November 5, 1874.
I have been in town all day on business of various
kinds, and have come home very tired, — or, as an English-
man called it, the other day, " very tarred." At first, I
did not know what he meant ; but when he used the ex-
pression a second time, it dawned upon me. Among other
tilings, I went to see Mrs. Hamilton's portrait of Agassiz.
She inquired particularly after you, and was very sorry
to hear of your accident. In the afternoon I went to a
concert, and had the inevitable cold draught let in upon
me before it was over, spoiling the effect of the beautiful
Allegro of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. And, finally,
here I am, where I have been wanting to be all day long.
I really believe it will end in my never going out of sight
of my own chimney-pots.
And now, good-night ; and may the good physician
Sleep comfort and console you. But such a sunrise as
I saw two days ago was better than sleep to me !
To G. TV. Greene.
November 10, 1874.
Howells and his brother-in-law, Mr. Mead, the sculptor,
have been dining with me to-day. After dinner we went
to a neighbor's to hear Mr. James read an Essay on Car-
222 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
lyle.^ And now, at eleven o'clock, I am waiting for some
peoijle in the library to go home, that I may go to bed,
where I much desire to be. 1 only wish that you could
sleep half as soundly as I do.
Last evening I wrote a sonnet on the Ponte VeccMo of
Florence, which I think you will like. You are one of the
few who know what a sonnet is. I wrote last summer a
good many ; among them, a series of five entitled, ' Three
Friends of Mine,' meaning Felton, Agassiz, and Sumner, —
my small tribute to their memory. In the Atlantic for
January will be the poem on Sumner I read to you when
you were last here. Pardon me for thinking that such
small items will amuse you.
14th. My classmate Benson writes urging me to pre-
pare a poem for the class-meeting at next Commencement,
— our fiftieth anniversary. Professor Ignaz Zingarle writes
to ask that I will get up a subscription here to aid in
erecting a statue of Walther von der Vogelweide at Botzen,
in the Tyrol. Two equally difficult things to do.
To G. W. Greene.
November 14, 1874.
When one is hungry, and waiting for dinner, there is no
better way of shortening the time than by writing letters.
So I have just been writing one to Mr. Trowbridge on his
volume of poems, and will write you one on nothing in
particular. Your wife's letter this morning was very en-
couraging. You will come through triumphantly. But
now that you sit in your library again, I must not write
you any more nonsense. When you were morphined out
of your wits, anything might pass. Now that you are in
* Henry James, the elder.
1874.] LETTERS. 223
your right mind, I can no longer impose upon you. I saw
to-day, for the first time, tlie Life and Letters of Cogs-
well. It is a large and handsome octavo, privately printed.
I am sorry that I have not a copy. I think it must be a
very interesting book. The young woman who writes the
literary notices for the Advertiser informs me this morning
that the ' Hanging of the Crane ' will not add anything to
my reputation. I am sorry for that ; I thought perhaps
it might ! I hope the mustard-leaves reached you in
safety ; you will find them very potent. The dinner-
bell rings. Farewell.
To G. W. Greene.
November 15, 1874.
Mindful of the French saying, // n'l/ a Hen de certain
que rimprevu, I often wonder what will be my next an-
noyance ; for annoyances are as sure to come as the world
is to turn round.
Last evening the unforeseen appeared in the shape of a
letter from a German professor in Innsbruck, requesting
me to act as agent for collecting funds to raise a bronze
statue to Walther von der Vogelweide in Botzen. Good
heavens ! have we not enough to do in erecting equestrian
statues of General Jackson, and in making the perpendic-
ular steed stand on the tip of his tail ? Have we not
enough to do in adorning our streets with wooden Indians
at the doprs of tobacconists, and our ships with figure-
heads of Hebe and Pocahontas ? I do not believe there
are a hundred men in the United States — except Ger-
mans — who ever heard of Vogelweide the Minnesinger,
and not ten who would give ten cents toward raising a
statue to him at Botzen.
I promised to write you no more nonsense ; and lo !
here are three pages of it, besides the enclosure, which
is nonsense or not, as you please to regard it. Mean-
224 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1874.
while get well as fast as you can, and do not be de-
pressed by gloom of weather or anything else.
24th. Finished a Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary
of the Class of 1825 at Bowdoin College.
26th. This morning translated my Sonnet on the
Ponte Vecchio at Florence into Italian.
To G. W. Greene.
November 29, 1874.
I am afraid you will get tired of my letters, and say
they are too many. Nevertheless, I will wind up the
month with another, though I have nothing in the world
to tell you. I am not Baron Grimm, nor Mme. de
Sdvignd.
Yesterday, under the archway of the Marlborough, I
found and bought a copy of Guicciardini, ten volumes in
five, half -calf octavo, for the moderate price of fifty cents
per volume !
I beg your pardon ; I foi^ot. You " take no further in-
terest in books." Still, I would not trust you alone
under the archway for any length of time, nor down in
the depths below, with the tempter Lovering. The pas-
sion for buying books must be one of the last to leave us.
As to the reading of books, that is another matter. I am
afraid that long ago I became an impatient reader. Per-
haps T always was one. I early felt the despair that
comes over the soul at the sight of a large library. I am
very restless under the infliction of a diffuse style, and
want everything said in as few words as possible.
I am sorry about your sleep. If you were here, I
would read to you my last poem ; that would do the
business effectually !
1874.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 225
SOtli. Wrote a sonnet on an unknown soldier's grave
at Newport News.^
December 4. In the evening Owen and Mchols, with
Sumner's proofs.
To G. W. Greene.
December 6, 1874.
I send you to-day a number of the Overland Magazine
containing two articles which -I think will interest you.
One is on Stuart Mill ; the other on Hubert Bancroft, the
first volume of whose work on the Native Tribes of the
Pacific Coast has just appeared. You will admire, as I
do, his devotion to his work ; it is a noble example. Thus
are great things achieved; happy the man who has the
will and the way to accomplish them !
An amiable critic in a New York paper says of the
' Hanging of the Crane ' that everybody connected with
the book " has done his duty except one, and that is the
author himself." Among other equally flattering remarks,
he repeats that old, old formula : " If this poem had been
sent anonymously to any magazine in the country, it
would have been instantly rejected." Howells says he
wishes somebody would try the experiment on him.
So we drift along, buffeted by side-winds and flaws.
To G. W. Greene.
December 7, 1874.
I sent you yesterday an essay on Stuart Mill which I
thought inight have some interest for you. There is noth-
ing new in it, but it may reawaken your slumbering love
of reading. Stuart Mill is a kind of Petrarca in prose,
and Mrs. Taylor a modern Laura de Sade. How strange
1 A newspaper paragraph, "A soldier of the Union mustered
out," had been sent him long before.
15
226 LETTERS. [1874.
it is that after five centuries Avignon and Vaucluse should
again become the scene of a romantic passion ! Stranger
still, but characteristic of the two different ages and na-
tions, that the part of the Italian troubadour should be
played by an English philosopher, and sonnets give place
to essays on Political Economy. Yet the sweet old pas-
sion was the same, and as powerful in the philosopher as
in the poet, and perhaps more sincere and lasting. Who
knows ?
I have had rather a rough week of it, this last. One
evening, finding my room oppressively hot, I opened the
window to breathe, and in two minutes was shot through
and through by the arrows of the heavenly maid,
Influenza.
Good heavens ! what kind of style is this ? Am I John
Lilly writing Euphues?
Have you seen Howells's new novel, A Foregone Con-
clusion? The scene is in Venice, and the character of
the priest Don Ippolito is very powerfully drawn. In
that respect this book is a stride forward.
From T. G. Appleton.
Thebes, December 10, 1874.
I can add little to my address; that tells the whole
story. Here we are at last at this supreme centre of the
old civilization. I certainly shall not attempt to describe
it to you, — the books must do that; but you at least wiU
gladly hear that we are not disappointed. We have just
returned from our first visit to the wonders. What shall
I say of the grand old stones and tender cuttings ? So
clear and pure, yet telling about what we so little under-
stand that, while everything is undisguised, the secret is
still kept, or much of it. But I must not waste my paper
in aesthetics. My party is a delightful one. All are cul-
1874.] LETTEUS. 227
tivated and ardent admirers of beauty. I keep a little
journal which I dictate to Miss Fletcher, and Eugene
Benson is to illustrate it. I shall make a little book of it,
that you all may see what a charming thing this Nile life
is. Your letter and the lovely poem on Cadenabbia
reached me last night. It seems, when reading your
words, that I am stretching my hands from natron cere-
ments over the centuries to young America. We have a
consort boat, the " Clara," now rustling by us, and in it are
a daughter of Praed the poet, and a savant, and Mr. and
Mrs. P , who are the heads of the party. Each boat
does just what the other does, and we walk and shoot to-
gether. "We stumbled, at Sioot, upon the Ghawazees, v/ho
were at a maniage, as dancing-girls are, and we all went
in, thinking it was a cafe; but it was the Governor's
house. But they are not proud in Egypt, and we had
kindness and coffee, and especial dancing for us. The
howadji can do anything here. A Prussian prince, too,
was in our company ; but he has run on, — probably here
only for the shooting. The Prussian bloodthirstiness was
shown by shooting doves into the river to die and drown.
But he did get a magnificent eagle, who had indeed " the
strength of pinion that the Theban eagle bare." We shall
drink deep from these antique fountains here for three
days, and then forward. We got up yesterday, as you
did, to see the transit, and blacked our noses against the
glass. It was as clear as possible, and I rejoice for the
savants here, who had their daJmbeyah illuminated last
night. We daily have a cool bath, and the weather, when
there is a breeze, is beyond belief. One hangs, in this
bright sky, like a fly in amber. The evenings are in-
credible, — such tones, such gradations of splendor ! Every
night Eugene and I dash at our colors and shoot straight
at the setting sun as at a target. Not often do I hit ; but
E. has a dozen dear bits, which he is to sink into an Ara-
228 LETTERS. [1874.
bian cabinet which we can get at Cairo. And what shall
I say of Antonio, our cook ? He is a magician ; and such
mishmash, such dates with almonds and sugar, such pigeon-
pies, — we shoot our own pigeons, — such turkeys, always
young ones ! It is almost too much for us.
I hear the consorts firing away their guns ; so another
boat has come. I hope it is General McClellan. We had
a feu de joie last evening, as we came in under a wing of
gold from Thebes across the river; for we are now at
Luxor. Our consul visited us, — an Arab, brown as a
berry, and having no idea where America is, but speaking
English well. Giving and taking coffee seems the sum of
official duty. Imagine our coffee ! direct from beyond
yonder hills, and as aromatic as it is innocent. We have
it three times a day; and our tea is delicious. Our li-
brary is a double one, — my own and the boat's, which is
a private yacht in summer. George Curtis [Nile Notes]
reads better than ever, so graceful and so refined. But
Martineau is our favorite ; she is a thinker. Lepsius and
the colossal pair of England, Lane and WUkinson, are
never off our table. When there is no wind the flies de-
scend like fiends ; we are at their mercy. But they dis-
appear when Zephyr comes.
Love to Craigie House and all dear ones. Need I tell
A. that the hollow diamond ^ hangs from my yard sixty
feet over head?
T. G. Appleton.
1 The flag of Ms yacht, the "Alice."
CHAPTER XII.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1875-1876.
January 14, 1875. Have got down into my study again,
after being shut up in my chamber a fortnight with in-
fluenza and neuralgia. Greene has departed, and I feel
quite strange and solitary.
To Miss K .
January 15, 1875.
Not being a Spiritualist in the usual and popular sense
of the word — that is to say, never having seen any mani-
festations that convinced me of the presence of spirits — I
should deem it almost an act of dishonesty on my part to
accept the compliment you offer. ^
I must therefore, with many -thanks for this mark of
your consideration, beg leave to decline it.
22d. Began a Dramatic Idyl, — Epimetheus [afterward
called Pandora].
To G. W. Greene.
February 5, 1875.
The pain in my head is somewhat assuaged, though the
roar of " multitudinous seas " still continues in my ears.
So far so good, lookiag for something better.
1 Apparently an honorary membership in an English " Association
of Spiritualists."
230 LETTERS. [1875.
As I laid down the paper this morning, I wished that I
could be, for a season at least, in a land where are no
newspapers. What kind of a public are we, to be fed
daily with such horrors of all kinds, and tolerate it? The
low tone of everything disturbs and discourages me.
February 6.
The roar of the ocean has ceased, and now I have a
sewing-machine in my head, turning out any amount of
ready-made clothing. Such is my bulletin for to-day.
What is yours ? Whatever it may be, do not lose heart.
Faith is half the battle ; the spirit lifts the body.
I sent you this morning a portrait of Sam Ward in a
newspaper as " King of the Lobby." I will send another
paper with several interesting articles. Do not fail to
read that on Sainte-Beuve, and what Euskin says about
critics and criticism.
Besides the ready-made clothing, the sewing-machine has
turned out a poem on Amalfi. In this cold weather what
can one do better than think of that lovely land, — and
sing of it, if the song comes ?
From T. G. Appleton.
MiNEAH, Egypt, February 13, ISVS.
Deak Henry, — Behold me returned from a descent
into Africa, whei'e was no post and no railroad, but only
Nature and History. I went as into a cloud ; but, oh ! the
silver and gold lining of it, as the sun or the moon shone.
It was weird and wonderful, and put me in relation with
Speke and Grant and the other great travellers. I kept
a faithful journal, and made endless sketches, all in water-
color. My friend Mr. Benson was very active, and in oil
has a store of beauties. He and his family have proved
delightful companions, and enjoyed every moment ; not a
sunset nor a dish was thrown away upon them. Oh, that
1875.] LETTERS. 231
you had our spring instead of the sulky, reluctant visitor
I so well remember ! Before my eyes is a sheet of green,
such as only Egypt knows, and set in the gold of sand and
cliff which doubles its beauty. You must get Mr. Gay
to tell you of these wonders ; my space can do them no
justice.
None but a goose can see this country and not feel as if
he were saluting a mother. At Beni-Hassan yesterday I
saw Homer and the Bible painted on the walls ; and yet
the life of to-day. These Egyptian children were indeed the
fathers of all of us men since. Life here cannot escape from
the old conditions. Our dethroned mast (for we row only,
now) rests on a semicircle of iron identical with one I saw
yesterday on a boat of five thousand years ago. To walk in
the shadow of such a date gives grandeur to life. Would
you were here, and we should have a poem with a fine old-
crusty-port flavor. / have shut up my exuberant Muse in
sonnets, and my brain is still spinning more. . . .
Faithfully,
T. G. Appleton.
To G. W. Greene.
February 15, 1875.
By way of recreation, I am reading the Fasti of Ovid.
What a curious coincidence there is between his legend of
Flora and Zephyrus (book v. 201) and that of Winona and
the West Wind in ' Hiawatha.' Ovid makes Flora tell her
own story briefly and modestly in two lines. What a
beautiful line is this, —
" Dum loquitur, vemaa efflat ab ore rosas."
But why talk of Zephyr when Boreas is blowing ? The
winter intimidates me. Even in-doors I am cold. We
have made a mistake in bringing into this severe climate
our old English prejudices in favor of open fires. We
232 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1875.
need Eussian stoves. I wish I had one this moment
in my study.
A stranger in the West asks me to write for him two
poems " on friendship, or a subject like that, for the album
of a young lady who is a very particular friend." He asks
me also to " send the bill with the articles."
Felruary 20. Since Christmas I have been suffering the
tortures of neuralgia in the head, fostered and augmented
by the cold and bitter noithwest wind that has been blow-
ing for two months.
To Miss .
February 20, 1875.
If I had time I would write you a long letter in reply
to yours, which has greatly interested me. But, alas !
though, as the Indian said, I have all the time there is, it
is not enough for the many claims made upon it. I can
only send you and the boys and girls under your care a
friendly salutation. To those who ask " how I can write
so many things that sound as if I were happy as a boy,"
please say that there is in a neighboring town a pear-tree
planted by Governor Endicott two hundred years ago,
and it still bears fruit not to be distinguished from that
of a young tree in flavor. I suppose the tree makes new
wood every year, so that some parts of it are always
young. Perhaps this is the way with some men when
they grow old ; I hope it is so with me. I am glad to
hear that your boys and girls take so much interest in
poetry. That is a good thing ; for poetry is the flower and
perfume of thought, and a perpetual delight, clothing the
common-place of life with " golden exhalations of the
dawn." Give them all my sympathy and good wishes.
1875.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 233
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
February 27, 1875.
How very kind you are to remember my birthday, and
to crown it with such a lovely wreath of flowers ! Sweeter
than the flowers were the good wishes that came with
them. How much I thank you !
A mysterious stranger came to me last evening ; said
that he had heard that I was suffering from neuralgia, and
had brought me a wonderful belt which would cure me.
As my mind is always hospitably open to empiricism and
its " kindred delusions," I lent a willing ear to his sugges-
tions ; wore the belt at night ; slept seven hours without
waking ; and to-day the cloud is lifted from my brain. It
may be all imagination. If so, imagination is a good
medicine. Should I be as much better to-morrow as I am
to-day, I shall think it a reality.
March 3. Wrote a little poem, ' The Sermon of Saint
Francis ; ' that is, his sermon to the birds. — Mr. White,
the City Forester, called, and brought me several articles
made of the Washington elm. Mr. Monti came to dinner,
and in the evening read an interesting paper on Brigand-
age in Calabria and Sicily.
5th. Have nearly finished the first draft of Epimetheus
[Pandora]. To-day wrote the Chorus beginning, —
"What the Immortals
Confide to thy keeping," etc.
6tL Mrs. Sargent and Whittier, the poet, came to see
me.
To H. A. Bright.
March 19, 1875.
I beg you to accept my thanks for your kind remem-
brance, and for the pretty little volume on the Glenriddel
MSS. of Burns.
234 LETTEKS. [1875.
Burns's own estimate of these verses seems to me just,
and it seems also strange to me that he should have copied
some of them, even for a friend. But the account you
give of them is curious, and valuable as a bit of literary
history.
I always recall with pleasure our drive to Ashfield
before your house was built. The grounds and gardens
were hardly yet in order, — hardly more than a promise
and a prophecy. I dare say both promise and prophecy
have been fulfilled, and the place has that comfortable and
elegant look which England expects as a duty. Long may
you live to enjoy it !
Let me thank you also for your hospitable invitation to
show my friends the pathway to your door. That would
be a great pleasure to me, should the occasion present
itself.
From T. G. Ap;pleton.
Jerusalem, March 24, 1875.
Dear Henry, — We are back again at our old camping-
ground ; and I must tell you something of our excursion
to the Pools of Solomon and the Dead Sea. We went
through Bethany, — a hamlet of twenty houses, just out of
sight of Jerusalem, on the hill's farther side. When, com-
ing thence, the Saviour turned a point of the hill, Jeru-
salem burst upon him and drew forth the passionate
apostrophe. We now know the way he came; for though
there are three roads, only one is large enough for the
multitude which followed and met him. On we went
down, down, thirteen hundred feet, tiU we reached the
plain, with the Mountains of Moab just opposite, — a long,
even line, hazy with purple lights and shadows, and the
Dead Sea on our right. We camped near Elisha's Well,
and enjoyed our gypsying famously. After dinner, by the
light of the moon we had a Bedouin dance,. — some fifty
1875.] LETTERS. 235
men, women, and children. It was weird and savage, and
their cries just like our Indians' war-whoop. We had to
pay them well for their civility ; but it was better than
being robbed, — their usual business. We took as a
protector a famous Bedouin chief, who thundered about
on horseback at full speed, and drawing his sword, looked
hke a first-rate circus-rider. He haggled much for his
backsheesh, but finally presented me with his photograph !
Imagine Barak or Sisera presenting his photograph to
visitors ! The next day we pricked over the plains two
hours to the Dead Sea. Soon we were hunting for peb-
bles and shells, with biggish waves breaking at our feet,
and a feeling of the sea as the salt was blown in our faces.
On our way we had skirted the Jordan and drunk of it.
It is a lively little river, like the Tiber for color and size,
but with oleanders and terebinth and rich variety of trees
and flowers. The flowers accompany us wherever we go,
crimsoning our lunch places and drawing us in fond pur-
suit round many a rock and swell. The sky was veiled,
but pure and tender ; the weather quite perfect, and no
insects. Then we turned from the sea ; and up, up we
went, as by a torrent-bed of loose stones, swinging round
inaccessible heights, and getting stuck at times ; but up,
up, till the vast chasms of limestone in circular scoops
drew us, giddy at their edge, suddenly in sight of the
famous Convent of Masaba, — the oldest convent in the
world, and by far the most picturesque. It half clings to,
and half soars above, the cliff, and has zigzag walls to pro-
tect it from the Bedouins. It was more hke a dream than
a reality, or one of Gustave Dore's most daring grotesques ;
and as we rode to the top and I saw an incredible tower,
with a citizen in a chapeau leaning over the wall, and a
telegraphic wire hanging out of the sky, I was sure I was
asleep. But a little bird sat on the wire and chirped,
" Come up ; don't be afraid ! Don't you see I am not ? "
236 LETTERS. [1875.
and then we swept into camp. The next day we spent an
hour in chatting with the drowsy monks about St. Saba
and the lovely blue birds who comfort these recluses, and
in eating the good coarse bread and spitting out the un-
cooked beans they eat (for flesh they will not touch), and
in sketching the one palm-tree which waves them heaven-
ward. Then we glided down to the three Pools of Solo-
mon,— of the size of our Boston reservoir, — and there we
reposed, thinking of the Song of Solomon and rebuilding
his garden bowers, indolent after our ten hours' ride of
the day before ; and then, in two more hours, we were at
Bethlehem. Instead of talking about this sacred place, I
send you some flowers, as better than words.
Affectionately,
T. G. Appleton.
To G. W. Greene.
March 30, 1875.
The neuralgia still rages in my head with unabated
violence. What a discipline of pain !
I am glad that no college class can have more than one
semi-centennial anniversary. It makes me nervous to
think of it. I do not like to hear the subject spoken of ;
and when I look at the poem, it gives me a shudder.^
But what nonsense this is ! I have no doubt every-
thing will go off well ; and if it does not, there will be
no great harm done. Wednesday, the seventh, of July, is
the appointed day.
1 With characteristic promptness, he had written the poem some
months before, and had had a few copies printed and carefully
guarded. In Novemher he had written to Mr. Greene : " After tell-
ing my classmates that I could not write a poem for the anniversary,
I have gone to work and written one, — some two or three hundred
lines in all, and quite long enough. Whether I shall have the cour-
age to read it in public when the time comes, is another question."
1875.] JOURNAL AND LETTEES. 237
April 14. A very bad day for neuralgia ; suffered
intensely.
16th. Eead in the London Publishers' Circular that
"Professor Longfellow has almost ready for the press a
translation of the Niielungen Lied in verse, and a sacred
Tragedy, conceived ia the spirit of his Judas Maccabeus,
which extends to no less than fifteen acts." There is not
one word of truth in this.
17th. Mr. Nadal, one of the literary editors of the
New York Evening Post, dines with me ; also Lowell.
18th. Bad day for me ; neuralgia raging. In the even-
ing my girls drive over to Prospect Hill to see the light-
ing of Paul Eevere's lanterns ia the belfry pf the old
North Church.i
To G. W. Greene.
April 22, 1875.
I wish I could write you oftener and more fully ; but
it is impossible. This constant pain is very debilitating,
and takes away all pleasure in writing or doing anything
one is not absolutely obliged to do. You must not, how-
ever, be troubled about me ; I shall worry through it.
My girls all went up to Concord on Monday, and en-
joyed the celebration heartily. I could not go, but was
glad they should have this historic memory. You of
course have read the orations of Curtis and Dana ; they
are very different, and both very good. So is Lowell's
Ode, which is not yet published. He read it to me before-
hand. He has a gift for that kind of composition.
For the next few years we shall have centennial cele-
brations all over the country. I hope they wUl do some
good; and I think they may, in holding up the noble
lives of other days as examples.
* This was one of the many " centennial " incidents of this and
the following years.
238 LETTERS. [1875.
• From T. G. Appleton.
Paris, June 3, 1875.
My dream is now over ; the pearly gates of the Orient
are shut, and the prosy comforts of civilization take their
place. And great is our relish of them after the harbaric
deficiencies of the winter ! Never did order, did art, did
literature, look more charming; and we take our full
draught of all. I am at the Hotel du Jardin, well up and
in front, and the lovely [TuUeries] garden is in front. The
trees, I think, were never so beautiful. And yet, gaping
and grim with unhealed wounds, just beside, is the home
of France's kings. ^ Along the ruined front is written
Bepuhlique Frangaise, as in mockery, seeming to say:
" You see how we look after France's monuments."
The Salon is open, and so big that it swallows us like a
sea-monster. We come out dishevelled and undone, and
I refuse for days to look on a picture. How I wish
Ernest were here to enjoy it with us ! Jt is full of talent,
and has far less of the cultivated brutal than there used
to be. One huge canvas of Eizpah protecting the corpses
of Saul's sons, is quite enough for one morning. The
young Americans look well. Some sporting scenes by a
Philadelphian, Eakins, and two Egyptian scenes by Bridg-
man, are capital. Healey is strong in portraits; but I
missed them in my battle with the hosts of canvases. I
have a gallery of my own, — my one hundred and sixty
sketches. I am proud of my industry, and forever I shall
have what will recreate for me at a glance Syria and
Egypt.
I have dined with the Laugels to meet Eenan ; and you
may imagine how we talked of Syria and the lovely fields
around Galilee. I renounced talking Spiritualism with
1 The palace of the Tuileries, burned by the Commxiniata, who
feared the restoration of the monarchy.
1875.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 239
him the moment I saw him. He is jolly and clever, and
allowed to the hated Germans the best scholarship of
Europe. He thought they had the best death-weapon
the world ever saw, and he wished not to run against it,
but let it rust and consume itself. This I hold to be
wisdom. We saw La Fille de Roland at the I'ran9ais, —
every line an allusion to Prussia and the war.
How I long to kiss the dear nieces ! Love to them
overflowing. TeU Charles if he is sure to wish for the
"Alice" to put her at once in commission.
T. G. Appleton.
June 17. The centennial of the Battle of Bunker Hill.
18th. A call from the " Confederate " General Fitz-
hugh Lee.^ In the afternoon General Sherman and his
staff came.
July 7. Eead before my Class at Brunswick a poem on
our fiftieth anniversary, entitled ' Morituri Salutamus.' ^
From Benjamin Pierce?
July 8, 1875.
My very deae Feiend, — I have read your poem twice
this morning, — once aloud to my wife and sister. It is
new, it is true, it is touching, it is beautiful. Worthily of
your youth have you used the opportunity of age. It
seems to me the most spiritual of all your immortalities.
Your sincere friend and admirer,
Benjamin Pieece.
' Some of the Southern generals and a military company from
South Carolina came on to attend the celebration at Bunker Hill, in
friendly token of restored peace and amity.
* The poem was published the next day in Harper's Magazine.
' The distinguished mathematician, for many years professor in
Harvard College.
240 LETTERS. [1875.
To G. W. Greene.
Jtdy 18, 1875.
I reached home on Thursday last, and found on my
table between thirty and forty letters, in addition to ten
which I brought with me from Portland unanswered.
"What shall I do ? What can I do ? And echo answers
What ? Ah, if it would only answer the letters ?
I wish you could have been in Brunswick on the memo-
rable seventh. I think you would have been well satis-
fied with my reception and with the thing in general.
The story is too long for a letter. I will tell it to you
when we meet. As soon as you can tear yourself from
the arms of your beloved Windmill, I hope you will come
to Cambridge. To-morrow I shall put the 'Legend of
Epimetheus ' [Pandora] into the priater's hands. I want
you to go over the proofs with me. It shall not tax your
eyes, for I will read them to you.
I am not well yet; but I come back from Brunswick
better than I went. The excitement did me good.
To G. W. Greene
July 30, 1875.
The cars go jingling by, but your form is not seen
emerging from them and passing under the lUac arch at
the gate. I wait in vain.
The printers are slow. They have had my manuscript
for a week, and have not yet sent me the first proof. How
impatient young authors are ! Proof-reading is just the
work for this weather.
I am getting slowly better. So long as I keep perfectly
quiet I feel pretty well. Patience and Nux Vomica are
my two sheet-anchors.
And the Windmill with its folded wings, and the stones
1875.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 241
that grind no more! That was a happy thought, if it
makes you happy.
To-morrow I try dining with the Club, and hope that
Motley will he there. He is at Nahant.
October 5. Lord Houghton ^ called, and sat an hour.
He is tormented with neuralgia, as I am.
7th. Lord Houghton lunched with us. No other
guests but Lowell and Greene.
11th. Went with Lowell to see Motley, who goes back
t9 England on Saturday.
14th. Call from the Governor of Victoria in Australia,
and afterward from old Admiral Cofi&n, of the British
Navy.
16th. In the afternoon Anthony TroUope, the novelist,
calls.
25th. Drove with the Horsfords to Wellesley to see
Mr. Durant's Female College. A fine building overlook-
ing Lake Wlbun; three hundred pupils. After dinner
we had a row on the lake in the College boat, the " Evan-
geline," with a crew of eight girls and the handsome cap-
tain, Miss E . It was like sailing with the nine
Muses.
To G. W. Greene.
October 29, 1875.
On page 32 of Pandora there is an unlucky false quan-
tity, — Cybe'le for Cyb'ele. This is all owing to my Lord
Byron, with his
" She looks a sea Cybele fresh from ocean,"
which has familiarized our ears to a wrong accentuation, —
as Louis XIV. is said to have changed the gender of the
word carrosse.
* Known in literature as Richard Monckton Milnes.
16
242 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1876.
C. is out yachting in this rather rude and rough
weather. What different tastes there are in this world !
Novewher 1. Dr. Charles Appleton, of London, editor of
the Academy, passed the evening with us. A very intel-
ligent and agreeable young man.
To G. W. Greene.
December 25, 1875.
A Merry Christmas to all in the Windmill Cottage !
Houghton has just sent me your new book [The Ger-
man Element in the Eevolution], and a very handsome
book it is, — paper, page, type, and binding. This is an
outside view ; alas ! I have not yet had time to take an
inside one. Had I foreseen the labor of getting the
Poems of Places through the press, I should never have
had the courage to undertake it. Making the selections
was pleasant, and not fatiguing. To get it all printed cor-
rectly is quite another matter. I might have given the
time to Michael Angelo. Now he must wait, — which is
a pity.
January 29, 1876. Translated a poem of Gustave Le
Vavasseur, Vire et les Virois.
30th. Translated a poem of Mdry, Sur la terrasse des
Aygalades.
To Isaac McLellan.
February 6, 1876.
You will pardon me, I know, for not sooner thanking
you for your letter and pamphlet, when I tell you that I
have again been suffering from my old enemy, neuralgia.
It damages my correspondence and throws everything into
confusion. I have to begin every letter with an apology.
1876.] JOUENAL AND LETTERS. 243
Mr. Lossing's pamphlet on the surrender of Detroit I read
with great interest. He makes out a very strong case ;
and I am glad to see the old General Hull, your grandsire,
so ably vindicated. I hope you are having as fine a wiater
on your [Shelter] Island as we have. I see you in imagi-
nation tramping with your gun and dogs over the frozen
marshes, eager for any birds that have not been wise
enough to migrate southward at this season. " Straight a
short thunder breaks the frozen sky," and the beautiful
creatures " fall and leave their little lives in air."
MeanwhOe, I sit here by the fire, busy with the reading
and the making of books, — not so healthy a recreation as
yours, perhaps, but more congenial to my tastes.
February 7th. Mr. Winter and Mr. McCuUoch, the
tragedian, called in the afternoon.
8th. At lunch Miss M and Mme. Teresa Carefio
Sauret, the pianist, — a handsome Spanish woman from
Caraccas in Venezuela.
13th. A wonderful winter day : the air soft and wind-
less ; thermometer at 60° ; the river at its best and fullest,
as in an Indian summer.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
February 27, I&IG.
In presence of the prettiest wreath of flowers ever
wreathed by human hands, I hasten to thank the donor.
All this morning the well-known lines of WUlis, ' I 'm
twenty-one, I' m twenty-one,' have been running through
my mind, intermingled with Hood's ' I remember, I remem-
ber,' and a strange confusion of figures; so that I hardly
know whether I am sixty-nine years old, or only ninety-
six ! Nobody remembers when he was born, consequently
244 LETTERS. [1876.
we never know when we have grown old. When some-
body said of Ducis, " Le vieux Ducis est tomb^ en en-
fance," a friend replied, " Non, il est rentr4 en jeunesse."
I hope I shall have some friend to say the same of
me.
So the years are mingled and woven together like the
white and red flowers of this beautiful garland, for which
thanking you most cordially, I am
Your young and old friend.
To G. W. Greene.
February 28, 1876.
Pray don't let those unpleasant thoughts haunt and
torment you. Dismiss them from your mind as disagree-
able guests. Not the wrongs done to us harm us, only
those we do to others. You cannot afford to make your-
self unhappy by brooding over this matter. One's only
chance of quietude is in banishing all things that disturb
and annoy.
I send you enclosed an advertisement which will in-
terest you. You remember Wiggin and his books. I
think we once went together to look at his collection in
School Street. Drake's library is also to be sold a little
later. I wiU send you Catalogues as soon as I get them.
You can then do as I do, — mark the books you think you
want, close the Catalogue, and forget all about it. To
imagine you have bought the books is, in nine cases out
of ten, as good as buying them. Such is my philosophy
at the age of threescore years and ten, save one. I am
startled to think how old I am, and cannot believe it.
There must be a mistake. My birthday yesterday was
a very pleasant one ; I am surrounded with flowers as if
I were going to be married, or buried. I send you a son-
1876.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 245
net I wrote on the occasion ; being an Arcadian, of course
I write sonnets.^
29th. A call from Madame Titjens. Wrote a sonnet,
' Midnight.'
To Miss E. S. PM:ps.
March 12, 1876.
I fear that I cannot establish by any historic proof the
identity of the old building you speak of in your kind letter
with that in which Evangeline found Gabriel.^ A great
many years ago, strolling through the streets of Philadel-
phia, I passed an old almshouse within high brick walls,
and with trees growing in its enclosure. The quiet and se-
clusion of the place — " the reserve," as your poor woman
so happily said — impressed me deeply. This was long
before the poem was written and before I had heard the
tradition on which it was founded. But remembering
the place, I chose it for the final scene. . . . The cottage I
do not remember; only an enclosure, with tall trees and
brick walls, — just enough for the imagination to work
upon.
March 28. There are unlucky days, and this is one of
them. After breakfast a lot of unpleasant letters. Then
an old nurse who had been here in sickness came and laid
her hand too roughly on a wound that will never heal.
Then I went to the printing-office to hunt up a book
1 When he was in Italy in 1869 Mr. Longfellow had been made
a member of the Arcadia, — a literary Society founded in 1690 by
Crescimbeni and others. In this Society each member assumes some
classic pastoral name.
2 The "Quaker almshouses," the remains of which were taken
down at this time, were not the scene which the author of ' Evan-
geline' had in his mind.
246 LETTERS. [1876.
wliich they have lost, and cannot find ; then to see Os-
good about publishing John Neal's ' Seventy-six,' and find
he has gone to New York ; then to a tailor's, and read on
his door, "Eemoved to 290," — which number cannot be
found. Then I returned home to find a clamorous woman
with a book to sell ; I can stop her only by buying the
book, which I do not want. All this before five o'clock,
and interspersed with hand-organs ! ^
To J. B. Lowell.
May 4, 1876.
I shall be delighted to dine with you on Saturday at
six, and to meet your guest from Baltimore, whose name
suggests the Hesperides, as I doubt not her presence does.
I understand perfectly your mood of mind in revising
your poems for a new edition.^ You were looking after
" crimes and misdemeanors," like a policeman with a dark
lantern, determined to arrest somebody. I hope you will
be sparing of omissions and corrections. As a general
rule, I think that poems had better be left as they were
written ; their imperfections are often only imaginary.
Do not fail to have an index to the new volume.
1 Nevertheless, the hand-organists were never sent away without
due pennies, — perhaps, in part, because they came from Italy.
" Mr. Lowell had written to him, " I had such a pleasure yester-
day that I should like to share it with you, to whom I owed it.
Osgood and Co. sent me a copy of your Household Edition, to show
me what it was, as they propose one of me. I had been reading over
with dismay my own poems, to weed out the misprints, and was aw-
fully disheartened. Then I took up your book, to see the type ; and
before I knew it I had been reading two hours and more. I never
wondered at your popularity, nor thought it wicked in you ; but if I
had wondered, I should no longer, for you sang me out of all my
worries. To be sure, they came back when I opened my own book
again, — but that was no fault of yours.''
1876.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 247
May 16-21. A week with Mr. Childs at Philadelphia,
and a week in the country at Eosemont, near Bryn Mawr.
A charming -vacation, with all the wonders of the Centen-
nial Exhibition.!
June 10. Dom Pedro II., Emperor of Brazil, dined
with us. The other guests were Emerson, Holmes, Agas-
siz, and Appleton. Dom Pedro is the modern Haroun-al-
Easchid, and is wandering about • to see the great world
we live in, as simple traveller, not as king. He is a
hearty, genial, noble person, very hberal in his views.
To G. W. Greene.
June 11, 1876.
Yesterday, Dom Pedro of Brazil, the modern Haroun-
al-Easchid, did me the honor to dine with me, naming the
persons he would like to meet, — Emerson, Lowell, and
Holmes. Lowell was out of town; but the other two
came, and the dinner was very jovial and pleasant.
The first volume of Poems of Places is printed; but I see
no notice yet of its publication, and do not know when it
will appear. It is to come out volume by volume, and
not all at once.^
I hope you are enjoying the summer weather as much
as I am. I should be deliciously idle, were it not for the
incessant letter-writing forced upon me. That embitters
my existence, and I suppose will to the end. I mean now
to have an amanuensis, and only sign my name. I must
come to it, though it is almost as bad as using spectacles,
which I have not yet come to.
1 Mr. Longfellow had been invited to read an ode at the opening
of the Exhihition. He declined, being always unwilling to write for
public occasions. The ode was written by Mr. Sidney Lanier ; and
Mr. Whittier wrote the hymn which was sung.
2 It extended to thirty-three small volumes.
248 LETTERS. [1876.
To G. W. Greene.
June 21, 1876.
I send for your amusement some nonsense-verses on a
servant who had just broken two beautiful Japan vases
in her headlong hurry.
Epitaph
On a Maid-of-aU-Work.
Hie jacet ancUla
Quae omnia egit,
Et nihil tetigit
Quod non fregit.^
This afternoon the girls give W., the graduating senior,
a garden-party. The house is full of his friends already.
Have you seen a book by H. M. Dexter, just pubHshed
in Boston, entitled, As to Eoger Williams ? It might be
of use to you in your work.
What do you and the Governor think of the Presiden-
tial nomination at Cincinnati ? Does he know Mr. Hayes
personally ?
This letter is only a column of items. I am so iater-
rupted and distraught, I can do no better.
To G. W. Greene.
June 28, 1876.
Eather exhausting than otherwise is this hot weather ;
it always comes in June. The longest days will assert
1 Eor those who have " forgotten their Latin," this version must
suffice : —
Here a maid-of-all-work
Her rest doth take ;
When alive, she touched nothing
She did not break.
And those who have forgotten their Goldsmith may be reminded
of the "nullum quod tetigit non omavit" in his epitaph by Dr.
Johnson.
1876.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 249
their right to be the hottest. But it will soon be over.
If the thermometer would only keep pace with our years
after sixty, it would be very comfortable ; for I suppose a
man of ninety would not have any serious objections to
keep his thermometer at that level.
To-day I attended Commencement in the new theatra
It was a strange sensation to be walking with Lowell, who
wore my old professorial gown !
For the last fortnight we have had the house brimful
of people. It is very pleasant, but something of an in-
terruption to one's every-day pursuits.
Heading yesterday the Brief e von Johann Heinrich Voss,
the poet, I came upon a sketch of Andr^ when he was a
lieutenant and a student at Gottingen. Voss wrote a
poem to him, and calls him "der Hebenswiirdigste und
edelste Jiingling, und einer meiner besten Freunde. . . .
Er nahm mit Thranen Abschied von mir;" being sud-
denly called away, "well sein Eegiment nach America
geht." 1
August 31. The son and daughter of the Bishop of
Carlisle at dinner.
Septemler 3. Mr. Black, author of the Princess of
Thule, and other novels, called ; and Dr. Lauder Brunton ;
also Mr. E. Lyulph Stanley, with his sister and two
gentlemen.
To G. W. Greene.
September 10, 1876.
" Sweet is it to write the end of any book," says the old
Transcriber. I am glad you are so near the end of yours.
When it is finished, take a long vacation.
1 " The most lovable and noble youth, one of my best friends.
He took leave of me with tears when his regiment was ordered to
America."
250 LETTERS. [1876.
In regard to ether, and the inhalation thereof, I heg you
not to " listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy."
It will not do me any harm, — for I am not taking it.
A foolish man in Elmira has done me the honor of
writing what he calls a " Paraphrase of the Courtship of
Miles Standish," — which paraphrase consists in altering
the lines enough to make them rhyme! I suggested to
him that perhaps he might have employed his time and
talent more profitably in writing an original work.
To G. W. Greene.
September 29, 1876.
The Poems of Places plod slowly on and on. We have
reached Lammermoor, in Scotland, and I shall be glad
when Her Majesty's dominions are finished, and we can
go to the Continent. Have you been able to get out of
Ehode Island, or are you still a prisoner? I hope no
future historian, reading these lines, will imagine that we
are defaulters trying to evade the Extradition Treaty !
I have a letter from Tennyson, enclosing a paragraph
from the Times, which says that he and his publishers
had refused their permission to insert any of his poems in
my collection.
The letter is as follows : —
" Here in a little country town in Suffolk I came upon this in the
Times. I have had no word from yourself or Messrs. King and Co.
about your forthcoming publication. They have my copyright in
England for two years longer ; but in America I give you full leave,
and shall be honored by your insertion of anything of mine in your
collection.''
At present I am overwhelmed with visitors, some with
letters of introduction, more without. Luckily I am
pretty well ; but, alas ! I cannot sleep.
1876.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 251
October 11. At Wellesley College. Eead to the girls
'The Descent of the Muses' [a sonnet].
To Mrs. Marshall {in England)}
November 18, 1876.
... It may comfort you to know that I have had
twenty-two publishers in England and Scotland, and only
four of them ever took the slightest notice of my exist-
ence, even so far as to send me a copy of the books. Shall
we call that " chivalry," — or the other word ? Some good
comes of it, after all ; for it is an advertisement, and surely
helps what follows. It gives you thousands of readers
instead of hundreds.
In November of this year there appeared in the Inter-
national Eeview a full and discriminating critique upon
Mr. Longfellow's writings, by the Eev. Eay Palmer. Dr.
Palmer communicated to Mr. Longfellow this extract
from a letter written to him by Mr. Bryant: —
" I think that you have done a service to American literature in
your admirable review of Longfellow's Poetical Works. You have
given a more perfect analysis of their character than I have before
seen, and you have praised them, as they deserve to be praised, gen-
erously and warmly. It is delightful to see a poet of such eminent
merits, and such freedom from the faults that infect the poetry of
the day, commended with so much emphasis and decision. I am
glad that you entered so emphatic a protest against criticising, as
many do, by comparison, — which is the easy resort of those who
have no standard of judgment in their own minds."
This cordial tribute of the elder poet seemed of suffi-
cient interest to be preserved here. Somewhat later in
* Whose books had been republished in America without permis-
sion or compensation. For want of an international copyright Mr.
Longfellow himseK is believed to have been a loser by some forty
thousand dollars. This measure of simple justice to the writers of
both countries is still delayed.
252 LETTERS. [1876.
the year Mr. Longfellow wrote to Mr. Tennyson of the
pleasure he had received from reading his drama, Harold.
In reply Mr. Tennyson wrote : —
" Thanks for youi generous letter, I have had many congratu-
latoiy ones about Harold, but scarce any that I shall prize like
yours. [You ask] 'What old ancestor spoke through you?' I fear
none of mine fought for England on the hill of Senlac, for, as far as
I know, I am part Dane, part Norman. When are you — or are you
ever — coming to England ? We are both getting old, — I am, I be-
lieve, the older of the two ; but I hope that we shall come together
again before we pass away forever."
CHAPTER Xin.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1877.
January 1. At the Boston Theatre to see the first
representation of the Scarlet Letter, dramatized from
Hawthorne's story. Mrs. Lander as Hester Prynne.
2d. Snow, deep snow. A lovely sunset. Winter sun-
sets are more delicate than any others.
4th. Martin Farquhar Tupper at lunch. Asked him
to dinner on Saturday.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
January 14, 1877.
I have to thank you for three things. The first is the
beautiful poem, which is simple, tender, and true; the
second is your kindness in writing to Mrs. Thaxter, from
whom I have, in consequence, a letter ; and the third is
your amiable conduct in promising to come to supper
with Miss Doria, after her concert on Wednesday.
In return for these three things I will tell you a pleas-
ant piece of news.
Now, I might keep you waiting and guessing through
three long pages, as Madame de Sdvign^ did her daughter
when she announced to her the engagement of the Grande
Mademoiselle. But I am not Madame de S^vign^, and I
will not do it. I will only lead you gently down to the
bottom of this page, as down a hillside covered with snow
254 LETTERS. [1877.
in which some one is fast making footprints, and say that
Eichard Dana is the youth. . . .
To G. W. Greene.
January 14, 1877.
I have a pleasant bit of news to send you from Craigie
House, which I know will interest you. . . . And so there
is to be a new ' Hanging of the Crane,' —
" with dexter auguries,
And all the wing'd good omens of the sMes."
I say no more, having learned the great art of leaving off
in time. You cannot improve a sonnet by making it more
than fourteen lines long.
And speaking of sonnets reminds me to send you this
on the Ehone, and with it some lines on the Kiver Yvette.
They were written to fill blank pages in Poems of Places.
Perhaps you wiU think the pages had better have been
left blank. The printer thinks otherwise, and feebly
flatters me, so that I may be ready to meet other emer-
gencies of the kind.
"Welch [the gardener] on Amferica : " This is not a good
country, sorr ! One half the year you are an icicle, and
the other half you are boiled." This is not so concihatory
and flattering as the Proverbial Philosopher, who says we
are improving.
To G. W. Greene.
January 15, 1877.
I went into my library this morning and found three
damsels sitting by the fire ; one of them was reading aloud
from a volume on her knee. I asked what book it was,
and she answered, " The Life of General Greene." It was
a pretty picture, and would have pleased the author, had
he seen it. This is the only thing of importance that has
1877.] LETTERS. 255
occurred in our household since I wrote you last. But
as that was yesterday, and as to-day we have a snowstorm,
there has been little chance for anything to happen. AU
our adventures, like the Vicar of Wakefield's, have been
by the fireside.
Dr. Johnson said that the tragedy of Coriolanus was
one of the author's most amusing performances. Were
he now living, he could say the same of " Washington, a
Drama in Five Acts." It is truly an amusing perform-
ance, — or will be if it is ever performed.
And the History, — is aU going on smoothly? A young
publisher, with few books to care for, is better than an old
one with many. The terms he offers are much better than
I get. It is half-past ten ; so good-night.
To G. W. Greene.
January 24, 1877.
Do you remember our visit to Ischia, in 1829, — nearly
fifty years ago ? I never think of that island vsrithout
thinking of you ; and when I saw it last, in 1869, 1 re-
membered our being there together. Therefore I hope
you wUl like the enclosed lines [' Vittoria Colonna '] which
I have written for Poems of Places. If you see how and
where they can be mended, let me know it. Inarime was
one of the old names of Ischia.
My turtle-doves are as happy as we used to be under
similar circumstances. It is a pleasure to see them so
joyous and free from care.
To G. W. Greene.
January, 1877.
Have you begun printing your History [of Ehode
Island] ? I imagine you sitting in your study, wrapped
in your dressing-gown and reading proof-sheets with that
256 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. {1877.
gentle feeling of complacency witli which an artist sees
his plaster cast put into marble. I have just taken my
morning draft of the Daily Advertiser, and send you a
mouthful. It is a notice of Baron de Worms's book on
the Eastern Question, and gives a simple, straightforward
view of the whole matter, — the best I have yet seen.
The remainder of this day I intend to devote to writing a
poem on the French fleet that sailed from Brest in 1746
to ravage the New England coast and avenge Louisbourg.
So farewell.^
February 1. A call from Mr. Dennett, author of Louisi-
ana as it is. He gave me a fascinating account of the
State. A day of spring ; the icy fetters fall off.
To B. H. Dana, Jr?
February 26, 1877.
I certainly would, if it were possible, but I do not see
how it can be done. There is not time. If I were an
Italian improvisatore, I might do it ; but as I am only an
American professore, I cannot. Anything to reach Ger-
1 The Rev. E. E. Hale had written to Mr. Longfellow : "You told
me that if the spirit moved, you would try to sing us a song for the
Old South Meeting-house. I have found such a charming story that I
think it will really tempt you. I want at least to tell it to you. . . .
The whole story of the fleet is in Hutchinson's Massachusetts, iL 384,
385. The story of Prince and the prayer is in a tract in the College
Library, which I will gladly send you, or Mr. Sibley will. I should
think that the assembly in the meeting-house in the gale, and then
the terror of the fleet when the gale struck them, would make a
ballad — if the spirit moved ! " This ancient building, with its
historic memories, was in danger of being demolished.
* Mr. Longfellow had been asked to write something to be read at
a meeting in Stutgard for the purpose of erecting a monument to
Ferdinand Freiligrath. He sent a handsome contribution to this
memorial of his friend.
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 257
many by the middle of March should leave here by the
first. I should be unwillmg to present myself with a
poor production on such an occasion, and it would be
poor enough if written between now and the first of
March.
27th. My seventieth birthday. My study is a garden
of flowers ; salutations and friendly greetings from far and
near. I have a whole box full of letters and poems.
To G. W. Curtis.
February 28, 1877.
I hasten to respond to your cordial and affectionate
greeting on my birthday, and to say how delightful it was
to hear such words from you. It was almost as good as
seeing you ; but not quite.
It is a strange feeling, this of being seventy years old.
I cannot say precisely what the feeling is, — but you will
know one of these days. It is something like that of a
schoolboy who has filled one side of his slate with the fig-
ures of a very long sum, and has to turn the slate over to
go on with it.
Poor T. ! it is really sad to see him so disabled. He keeps,
however, very merry for the most part, and has written
by dictation one or two little books while lying on his
back.^
March 10. Greene, who came for my birthday, went
home this afternoon. He is my oldest friend living, and
always a welcome guest.
13th. A snow-storm. Good for writing letters. I have
too many to write. Sometimes a single mail brings me
1 It was while lamed by a fall upon the ice that Mr. Appleton
wrote in this way his Syrian Sunshine, and his Windfalls.
17
258 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1877.
fifteen. My time is taken up in answering them. I no
sooner sit down to meditate upon something I have in
mind, than I am haunted by the spectre of some unan-
swered letter, and start up, exclaiming : " Ha, ha, boy !
say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny?"
To G. W. Childs.
March 13, 1877.
You do not know yet what it is to be seventy years
old. I will tell you, so that you may not be taken by
surprise when your turn comes. It is like climbing the
Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind
you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and
before you other summits higher and whiter, which you
may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit
down and meditate and wonder which it will be. That is
the whole story, amplify it as you may. All that one can
say is, that life is opportunity.
April 1. Easter. If the sun is " dancing in the
heavens," he is doing it behind the clouds. Only one
level gleam at sunset lit up the landscape for a moment.
2d. Almost a pleasant day, after much rain. A visit
from Fields, always cheery and cheering.
6th. A visit from Professor Packard, the only survivor
of my old instructors and colleagues. With him his son,
a naturalist.
7th. In the afternoon Charles Norton called. We
talked of Euskin and Carlyle, and of Lowell's having
the English mission.
10th. Two Scotch ladies called. Then Mr. Clark
brought me a copy of Prang's splendid portfolio of the
"Yellowstone National Park," — a wonderful region, look-
ing more like fairy-land than anything on earth. Then a
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 259
pleasant call from Miss , who has chosen the medical
profession for her career, and is going to Germany, as the
Harvard Medical School does not admit women.
12th. Lieutenant Arseniew, of the Eussian Navy, at
lunch. A pleasant, modest youth. He gave me some
poems in English by his sister. How these Eussians mas-
ter foreign tongues ! They are taught in their childhood.
19th. Evening at the Opera. Beethoven's Fidelio, with
Mme. Pappenheim as Fidelio. The music splendid, but
the subject of the most lugubrious and dismal kind. The
scene passes wholly in a prison. Fidelio helps to dig her
husband's grave in an old cistern in a dungeon.
21st. In the morning arranging Poems of Places for
Syria. In the evening read over again Chodzko's Persian
Poetry, and designed a poem, ' The Leap of Kurroglou.'
To Benjamin Alvord.
April 26, 1877.
I hasten to thank you for your letter and for the num-
ber of " Nature " containing the article on the compass-
plant. In quoting from ' Evangeline,' the writer has used
the earlier editions ; in the later ones the passage has
been somewhat changed. As soon as I saw the compass-
plant [in the Cambridge Botanical Garden] I saw my error,
and for "delicate plant" substituted "vigorous plant," and
for " on its fragile stalk '' the words " in the houseless
wild." This puts the matter right, botanically speaking.
I hope that you are also the vigorous plant I remember,
though so many years have gone since we met. I am
sorry not to have seen you at Philadelphia. Do not let
your good resolve to write a paper on the compass-plant
slumber too long. It could not fail to be interesting and
valuable.^
' An article by General Alvord will be found in the American
Naturalist for August, 1882.
260 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1877.
27th. Mrs. calls to talk with me about the ' Build-
ing of the Ship ; ' she is going to read it in public. She
is German, and has a strong accent; she calls it "The
Lunch of the Sheep."
To G. W. Greem.
April 29, 1877.
To-day I have been reading Sumner's letters from Italy.
They are full of enthusiasm, and exhibit the softer and
more poetical side of his character, — a side so Httle
known or dreamed of by most people. He speaks of you
often, and never without a caress.
What a devourer of books he was ! It amazes me to
see the extent of his reading in four summer months. He
brought away from Italy a vast amount of knowledge ;
while I brought away little more than memories and im-
pressions, — a kind of golden atmosphere, which has al-
ways illuminated my life. Perhaps we were both wiser
than we knew. Each assimilated to himself what best
served his purpose afterward.
May 1. It is pleasant to write the name of May, though
one may have nothing more to say about it.
2d. Ole Bull, with his wife and her brother, dined with
us.
7th. Trying to write a poem on the Potter's Wheel, —
a poem of Ceramic Art.
8th. A day of musical dissipation. In the afternoon
at Mme. Essipoff's concert ; and in the evening at Miss
Amy Pay's.
9th. A very tardy and reluctant spring. A letter from
William AUingham.
10th. My holiday, with all its memories of thirty-four
years ! Wrote a sonnet on ' Holidays.'
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 261
llth. A lovely spring day. A mist and shadow of ten-
der leaves over all the landscape.
12th. The lovely weather contiaues, and makes me as
lazy as Maxentius, who could not, or would not, walk even
in the shade of his own portico.
To G. W. Greene.
May 28, 1877.
What a dripping month of May we have had 1 But to-
day the Spring comes out with all her lilacs in bloom, and
all her horse-chestnut tapers lighted.
When you come to Cambridge, you will find George
Washington ^ brought down from his station on the stairs,
and standing in the hall below, where he can be better
seen. In his place you will see an old Dutch clock, whose
sUver chimes will lull you to sleep at night. At the half-
hours it strikes the coming hour, to give timely warning
The hours are struck on a larger bell, and the chimes
" shiver the air into a mist of sound." On top is a
figure of Time, with scythe and hour-glass, attended by
four other tegures, representing the seasons, — all beauti-
fully carved in wood. This is my latest plaything.
Fields was here yesterday. When you come, we are to
have a dinner at the Brunswick, with yourself, Emerson,
Holmes, and Appleton.
June 1. In the afternoon a beautiful basket of flowers
from pupils of the Lasell Seminary at Auburndale, in
return for an autograph copy of a Sonnet.
2d. Beading the Frogs of Aristophanes, I was struck
with the thought that it was a good introduction for the
second part of Faust.
1 A cast from Houdon's bust.
262 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [I877.
19th. Sophocles at dinner, bringing with him two
bottles of Greek wine.
July 19 to 28. In Portland.^
August 1. Proofs of Poems of Places ; Germany. A
letter from Dr. Kohl, of Bremen.
2d. Drove to Longwood to call upoji Hillard. In
the afternoon a call from two ladies, school-teachers in
Cincinnati.
3d. Eeceived from Harper and Brothers one thousand
dollars for the poem ' Keramos ; ' that is, for the right of
first publication in their Magazine.
To J. T. Fields.
August 3, 1877.
Wlien you played your first card, I was in Portland,
and could not send you the Sonnet. Your second finds
me here ; and as it is a trump, it takes the Sonnet, which
you will find enclosed. Let the last line read, "And
lovely as a landscape in a dream."
The poem ' Keramos ' has gone to the Harpers, who
will harp it in one hundred and fifty thousand households,
or say half a million ears, — if they will listen to such
music as comes from a potter's wheel.
I am too busy to come to Manchester, or even to think
of it. I must get these Poems of Places finished with all
possible speed ; and if I go away, it stops the machinery.
When you next come to town, try to come as far as
Cambiidge.
Driving through Charles Street yesterday, I looked out
* " In Portland," he wrote a friend, " I bought a copy of Plu-
tarch's Lives, in Latin, printed in Venice in 1496. I believe this is
my first purchase of a book on account of its age. I already begin to
suspect that the date has been altered from 1596. The 4 has a
doubtful look."
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 263
for you, but did not see you, — because, like the Spanish
fleet, you " were not in sight."
To G. W. Greene.
August 5, 1877.
The article you send me is certainly written with ma-
lice prepense. But Seneca says that malicious people have
to drink most of their own venom. The way to make
them drink all of it is to take no notice of them whatever.
Your reply is dignified and conclusive, and I know you
would not have made it except for the sake of justice and
fair dealing. I hope you will adhere to your resolution
not to be dragged into a newspaper controversy. The
book is its own defender, and will fight its own battles if
need be ; therefore do not let your peace of mind be dis-
turbed. The clock is striking half past five. I will take
a walk in the garden before dinner, and add a postscript
after.
P. S. — Eesult of the walk in the garden : I find that
some unknown vagabonds have been in the summer-
house.
6th. Finished ' The Leap of Kurroglou.'
8th. A lovely summer day ; I wanted to be in many
places at once.
10th. I called to see my old friend Palfrey, the histo-
rian. Found him, as ever, cordial and genial, but very
feeble.
11th. A letter from Mr. , of Washington, a fierce
and " un-reconstructed " rebel, and an entire stranger,
asking me to defray the expense of publishing his Analyt-
ical Essays on the Great Poets, which some of his friends
tell him are " the most eloquent and beautiful compositions
in the English language."
264 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1S77.
Septemlcr 2. A splendid autumn day. Miss Sara Jewett,
the actress, called.
3d. Mr. called, with another Englishman. Speak-
ing of the weather, he said : " It is quite equal to anything
we have in England, if not superior."
5th. At lunch, the Rev. W. A. S., of New College,
Oxford, with his father, and the Eev. Mr. T., son of the
Archbishop of Canterbury [introduced by Dean Stanley],
and Mr. W., a young barrister.
6th. Dr. Playfair, M.P. for St. Andrews.
To J. T. Fields.
September 9, 1877.
I am so busy reading your new book that I cannot find
a moment to thank you for it. I stop midway in the
reading to say it is charming. I hardly know which
Essay I like the best. Yes, I do ; it is My Friend's Li-
brary, — the longest, and yet not long enough. It might
be drawn out like an extension-table ; and I advise you to
do it.
Thanks and congratulations. The book will be a favor-
ite, and you will incur the penalty pronounced in Scripture
when all men speak well of you.
Do you know how to apply properly for an autograph ? '
Here is a formula which I have just received on a postal
card : —
Dear Sir, — As I am getting a collection of the autographs of
all honorable and worthy men, and as I think yours such, I hope
you will forfeit by next mail.
When are you coming back from your cottage on the
^ At one time Mr. Longfellow, burdened with these demands, had
a slip of paper printed, which he enclosed with his autograph, for the
benefit of others : " In applying for an autograph, always inclose a
stamped and addressed envelope."
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 265
cliff? The trees on the Common and the fountains are
calling for you.
" Thee, Tityrus, even the pine-trees, ,
Thee the very fouiitams, the very copses, are calling.''
Perhaps, also, your creditors. At all events I am, who
am your debtor.
21st. Fourteen callers in the afternoon.
22d. Arrange Poems of Places; Eussia. They are
more numerous than I thought they would be.
26th. To-day, sirocco, I feel as limp as Somebody's
poetry.
27th. Arranging poems for a new volume ; this time
my own. In the evening Dr. Asa Gray with Sir J. D.
Hooker, another botanist, and President of the Koyal
Society.
29th. Monti and music.
October 1. Dined with Agassiz to meet Sir Joseph
Hooker, a very agreeable man.
2d. The weather continues superb. A wild Texan
herd broke into the front field. The leader, a huge bull,
was shot. The rest of the herd at once grew quiet.
4th. Called on Sir Joseph Hooker at the Botanical Gar-
den. Evening at the theatre ; Madame Janauschek as
Brunhild.
10th. A young Westerner and his wife called. He
asked me how old I was. " Seventy," I answered. He
replied, " I have seen a good many men of your age who
looked much younger than you."
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
October 16, 1877.
You command me to be silent, and say nothing of your
beautiful poem till I see you. Nevertheless I cannot be
266 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1877.
quite silent. I must at least say that it is beautiful, and
sweet with the breath of meadows, and simple in its treat-
Ejient, as an Idyl should be. A great deal of the poetry I
read is hot and feverish, and makes me long for shade and
coolness. Your little book is like a grotto, cool and re-
freshing. I am particularly struck by some of the choruses.
But as I am not to speak of the book till I see you, I will
hold my peace.
Will you ask Sir James to lend me Lander's Hellenics ?
I am sorely in want of his poems ' Ida ' and ' Ithaca,'
being how engaged upon Greece.
18th. Dined with the Eev. Dr. Gray to meet Bishops
Stevens of Pennsylvania, Dudley of Tennessee, and Eliot
of Texas.
19th. Evening at Mr. Haskins's, where I met sundry
other bishops. — Emerson was there.
20th. Last night I dreamed of Emerson. He said : " The
spring will come again ; but shall we see it, or only the
eternal spring up there ? " lifting both his hands on high. —
At dinner Joaquin Miller and Monti.
24th. Opera ; Wagner's Lohengrin.
30th. Bead Miss Phelps's novel, the Story of Avis.
A fresh, original style of writing, very interesting and
peculiar.
To G. W. Greene.
October 30, 1877.
Pierce's Life of Sumner will be published on the 7th of
November. Last evening I received a copy in advance.
I read in it, here and there, and a profound sorrow came
over me, — much like what I felt when I heard of Sumner's
death. We are all there in our youth ; and the Past is
too powerful for me. Too many things are touched upon
that send a quiver through the nerves. I shall never
1877.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 267
be able to read the book, except in fragments at long
intervals.
Osgood has sold or given and conveyed the North
American into the hands of the Appletons. Henceforth it
will be edited, printed, and published in New York. Mr.
Clarke, at the printing-office, said : " It is like part-
ing with the New England Blarney-Stone." He might
have said, in more classic language : " Troy has lost her
Palladium."
31st. A hazy autumn day. W. W. Story, the sculptor,
called.
November 26. Dark and wet as London. Copied for
the " Old South " Committee the ' Ballad of the French
Fleet.'
From John Weiss.
Boston, December 1, 1877.
Dear Mr. Longfellow, — As you desired, I send you
herewith some verses of Places. Perhaps, if you care to
receive those from the famous Naushon, you will think
that a footnote or curt introduction may be needed ; that
can be easily provided. The Island Book, in several vol-
umes, contains some most interesting traces of the distin-
guished men who have been guests there. I have thought
you would like to see the following by Daniel Webster,
— one of his rare ventures into the domain of verse-
writing :
" 'T is not the capture of the finny race,
'T is not the exciting pleasure of the chase,
But hospitality, that gives the grace
And sweetest charm to this enchanting place.
Though skies and stars and seas unite their power,
And balmy airs their softest influence shower.
To gild the outspread wings of every hour.
Yet oft nor eye nor ear these objects seeks,
Drawn both away while Beauty smiles and speaks."
268 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1877.
Mr. Webster used to be keen for the venison, and a very
good shot, bagging his game as he used to do ideas suc-
cinctly in a paragraph. But when Mr. E was down
there, the Governor (Mr. Swain) gave him a favorite
stand, with injunction to take the deer when it emerged
into the open. The deer did well enough; but when it
came through, Mr. E , shaking his double-barrelled
Manton wildly in the air, capered about, shouting : " There
she goes ! there she goes ! "
Excuse me ; the reminiscences of Naushon are too allur-
ing. But some of the little poems in its Album are better
than most of those which stray into German Andenken.
Very truly yours,
J. Weiss.
December 3. A letter from Lowell in Madrid. He is
a little homesick; but on the whole, I should say well
pleased with his place as minister.^
17th. The "Atlantic" dinner at the Brunswick Hotel,
to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the Magazine, and
Whittier's seventieth birthday.
' Mr. Lowell wrote to him : " I have just had a visit from the Per-
petual Secretary of the Royal Spanish Academy, who came to tell me
that you had just been nominated a foreign member of that venerable
body. When your name was proposed, he said, there was a contest as
to who should second the nomination, ' porque tiene muchos apasio-
nados aqui el Senor Longfellow.' You may conceive how pleasant it
was to me to hear this, and likewise your name perfectly pronounced
by a Spaniard. I told the Secretary that one of your latest poems
had recorded your delightful memories of Spain. It made me feel
nearer home to talk about you, and I add that to many debts of
friendship I owe you. I wish I could walk along your front walk,
and drop into your study. However, I shall find you there when I
come back ; for you looked younger than ever when I bade you good-
by. Your diploma will be sent to me in a few days, and I shall
take care that you receive it."
CHAPTEE XIV.
JOURNAL AND LETTERS.
1878-1879.
From W. C. Bryant.
New York, January 3, 1878.
Deak Mr. Longfellow, — The Goethe Club of this
city numbers as many admirers of your writings as it
has members. They are desirous of seeing you among
them in person, and of taking by the hand one whom
they have long held in reverence. You will have a for-
mal invitation to that effect, and I have been asked to
accompany it with a few words of entreaty that you will
give it a favorable consideration. You will certainly no-
where meet with those who more delight in what you
have written, or who would receive greater pleasure from
your visit. If you do not care to come on your own
account, let me beg you to consider whether you will
not come for their sakes. I am, dear sir,
Faithfully yours,
W. C. Bryant.
To J. T. Fields.
January 25, 1878.
Behold the song " from beginning to end." I am glad
you like it well enough to ask for it in this shape.
I have answered the letter of the young lady of Cincin-
nati. Her request was for a poem for her class. I could
270 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1878.
not write it, but tried to say No so softly that she would
think it better than Yes.
When I remember that it is less than half an hour from
my door to yours, I am ashamed not to see you oftener. I
think the reason is that while you are on the wing it is
in vain to seek you. And then the days are so short ! It
seems to me they are only twelve hours long, instead Of
twenty-four, as they used to be.
I hope Mrs. Fields is quite well again. I have taken
her cold, or somebody-else's, and should like to find the
owner. ,
February 1. Mme. Modjeska and her son, with Mrs.
Fields and Miss Phelps, author of Avis, at lunch.
2d. IJegin again on proof-sheets [of Sumner's Works]
with Nichols and Owen.
3d. Translated Ovid's Trisfia, book iii Elegy 12, for
Poems of Places.
To G. W. Greene.
February 24, 1878.
Tou tell me nothing of your Southern journey, — whom
you saw and what you did, only that you went and came
back. I heard of you through my neighbor Horsford, who
left you feasting with the grandees of Washington. What
a humiliating spectacle was that presented by the Senate
on the passage of the Silver Bill ! To this have we come ?
Quousque tandem ? Still there remains a " land of pure
delight," — the land of letters, in which you and I can
take refuge. My new volume of poems [' Kdramos,' etc.]
is all in type. I hesitate about inserting the Virgilian
Eclogue. What do you think ? Will it not be considered
rather a school-boy performance ? And the Poems of
Places : Europe is finished, and I am now in Syria. In
1878.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 271
Eussia the material falls short. Is there any poetic trans-
lation of Ovid's Tristia ? His lamentations from the
shores of the Black Sea ■would help me, and give a
classic flavor to the otherwise rather barbaric volume.
To G. W. Greene.
April 29, 1878.
How have you got through this rainy week, in which all
nature, except human nature, has been rejoicing and exult-
ing ? Here, Poems of Places have shut out the dull
weather. I have been in India and China and Japan,
and am now in Africa, where it is hot and dry enough. I
think Africa will be one of the most interesting volumes.
There are no new books here just now except my own.
' K^ramos ' is out ; but I no longer feel la procellosa e tre-
pida giqja of sending out a book into the world.
May 1. Bought Champeaux's Handbook of Tapestry.
A poem might be written on this subject. A lovely May
day after a week of rain.
4th. Afternoon at the Boston Theatre, to see Jefferson
in Eip Van Winkle.
5th. A wild south wind blowing. Cherry-trees in full
bloom, and dandelions in the grass.
25th. Dined at Mr. Winthrop's to meet Lord and Lady
Dufferin.
28th. Lord and Lady Dufferin drove over from Brook-
line to breakfast with us. They'are both charming people,
very simple and cordial.
To G. W. Greew.
May 31, 1878.
This is sad news about Bryant ; I fear he will not sur-
vive. Two reporters, or interviewers, have been to me
272 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1878.
already, for any incidents or anecdotes I could furnish
concerning him. I had little or nothing to say, and said
less. What they will say I said remains to be seen.
In Poems of Places I haVe travelled all the world over,
except America. That remains, and wUl probably fill sev-
eral volumes. Even the final volume, Oceanica, is in type.
That will complete the series, and embrace much interest-
ing matter on seas and islands, not given before.
" Dulce est cujusvis libri finem scribere."
Juhj 10-16. In Portland.
August 5. Went with Fields down to his cottage by
the sea [in Manchester], — a lovely place.
6th. Drove with Mr. and Mrs. F. to Gloucester to see
Miss Phelps in her cottage [the Sea Shell], just as large as
my study, — twenty feet square.
18th. Alfred Dommett sends me his 'Eanolf and
Amohia,' — ■ a New Zealand poem, with splendid descrip-
tions of scenery.
19th. A day when everything went wrong, till even-
ing, when a Nova Scotian artist came, and by way of com-
pensation gave me a sketch of Grand Pr^ in oUs.
To Miss E. S. Phelps.
August 21, [1878].
Your letter fills me with regret. I am sorry that I did
not stay long enough at East Point to see the fog lift and
Norman's Woe rise to view. I have never seen those
fatal rocks. I have a vision of you speeding away with
your swift steed, and the white cloud floatiag in the wind
as you turned the corner and vanished out of sight. We
got safely back to Thunderbolt Hill ^ before the rain came
on. But what a wet afternoon it was !
1 Mr. Fielda's place.
1878.] LETTERS. 273
I thank you for the paragraph on Co-education. That
is a difficult problem to solve. I know that life, like
French poetry, is imperfect without the feminine rhyme.
But I remember how much time I lost at the Academy,
in my boyhood, looking across the schoolroom at the
beautiful rhyme. Perhaps, after all, it was not time lost,
but a part of my education. Of what woman was it said
that " to know her was a liberal education," and who said
it?^ Certainly there is something more in education than
is set down in the school-books. Whittier has touched
the point very poetically in that little lyric of his called
'In School Days.'
To G. W. Greeene.
August 21, 1878.
As I have written only eight letters to-day, I may as
well add another, and give you what is left in the ink-
stand. Not that I have anything in particular to say,
but my pen has got such headway upon it that I eann^
stop it.
I have just been looking over Mr. Cushing's Index to
the North American Eeview, recently pubHshed. It is-
like walking through a graveyard a»nd reading the- in^-
scriptions on head-stones. So many familiar names, so
many old associations ! Bowen is the- largest contributor ;
Edward Everett the next largest ; then his brother Alex-
ander. You wrote twenty articles; Charles Sumner
three; George Sumner only one.^ I am struck by the
great variety of subjects treated, and the prevalence of
those purely literary ; and my regret is rendered more
1 It was Steele, who said of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, under the
name of Aspasia, that "to love- her was a liberal education." — Thg
Tatler, No. 49.
" Mr. Longfellow hinaself wrote eleven.
18
274 LETTERS. [1878.
keen than ever that the old Eeview should have slipped
its moorings in Massachusetts Bay and drifted down to
the mouth of the Hudson. It must be towed back again,
and safely anchored in our harbor.
To J. T. Fields.
August 25, 1878.
I am sorry to hear that you are not quite yourself. I
sympathize with you, for I am somebody else. It is the
two W's — Work and Weather — that are playing the mis-
chief with us. I ought to have stayed longer with you ;
I ought to have stayed longer at Portland and at Nahant,
— in fine, ought not to have come home so soon. You must
not open a book ; you must not even look at an inkstand.
These are both contraband articles, upon which we have
to pay heavy duties. We cannot smuggle them in ;
Nature's custom-house officers are too much on the alert.
I should be delighted to make you another visit before
the season is over, and will if possible, — but not for the
gayeties of the hotel; they do not tempt me. What I
want is rest. Greene writes in very poor spirits ; he
says he cannot walk half a mile. Are we all crumbling
to pieces ? I trust not.
To G. W. Greene.
August 30, 1878.
You need not be afraid of Hop Bitters ; they will
never do you any harm, — because you will never take
them. Here at the Craigie House everything goes on as
usual. We debate the errors in the Sumner proof-sheets.
Poems of Places drag their length from volume to volume.
Mrs. McD. has gone back to Holly Springs to face and
fight the pestilence. It is very noble in her to do so. She
could not resist the maternal instinct to protect her chUd,
1878.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 275
and her desire to share the fate of her family. She will
be a great support and comfort to them with her courage
and cheerfulness. What a terrible devastation this is at
the South ! What a terror in the air ! The laws of
Nature are inexorable. Truly, cleanliness is next to god-
liness. Have your cellar whitewashed. The inside of
the platter must be kept clean, as well as the outside, —
and this sounds like a sermon, of which you stand in no
need.
September 1. A soft rain ; then sunshine intense and
pitiless. E. and E. are staying here. A. and A. are in
the forests of Maine.
11th. Went to town to see Mrs. . She is in great
grief, and almost despair. I could not help recalling the
lines of Keats : —
" There was a listening fear in her regard
As if calamity had but begun.
As if the van ward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen roar
Was with its stored thunder laboring up."
17th. Dean Stanley called, with Dr. Harper and Mr.
Grove, editor of Macmillan's Magazine," escorted by
Governor Rice.
25th. At the theatre to see Olivia, — a play made from
the Vicar of Wakefield.
To G. W. Greene.
September 25, 1878.
I went yesterday to the theatre to see the Vicar of
Wakefield, and was struck with the immense superiority
of dramatic representation over narrative. Dr. Primrose
and his daughter were living realities. Sophy was per-
fectly lovely, and it would have delighted Goldsmith's
276 LETTERS. [1878.
heart to have seen her. Dr. Primrose was very well done
by Warren, and Olivia by Miss Clarke. Mrs. Primrose
was represented by Mrs. Vincent. It was all very pa-
thetic, and half the audience were in tears, — the present
writer among the rest.
To-day I am paying the penalty of my dissipation,
having taken a heavy cold from the ladies' fans behind
me, and the invariable theatrical custom of flooding a
heated audience with cold air from open doors and win-
dows. I might have foreseen it, and did foresee it ; and
get no consolation from Moli^re's " Tu I'as voulu, George
Dandin," or his " Que diable allait-il faire dans cette
galore ? "
I suppose you have seen by the papers that Dean
Stanley has been here. He came to see me, and I after-
wards dined with him at Winthrop's. He is very pleas-
ant and animated in conversation, and full of anecdote.
I wish you had been here ; I think you would have
enjoyed seeing him.
Did 1 tell you of a request I had from Chattanooga to
write one hundred autographs for a Fair in behalf of
Southern sufferers ? It was like fighting the battle over
again; but I did it!
To J. T. Fields.
October 6, 1878.
" Affable Archangel," — have you written to Chi-
cago for reinforcements of those stout little "men in
buckram " ?
I rather like that sentence beginning with Milton, who,
as thinks, was no poet, and going back to Shake-
speare, of whom your travelling companion at Stratford-
on-Avon entertained the same opinion. Let us try again.
Have you summoned those " spirits from the vasty "
West?
1878J JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 277
Let me take this opportunity to recommend to you the
Family Library of British Poetry. It is an excellent
work, and not only a body of British poetry, but the very
soul thereof. You will like it as well as I do.^
All things here have resumed their wonted aspect.
Poems of Places, also an excellent work, " drags at each
remove a lengthening chain." Don Jorge Nichols and Don
Juan Owen come with the Sumner proof-sheets, and we
sit together, like the three wise men in a bowl, all at sea.
If I were not an enemy to quotations, I should say it is
enough to "make the judicious grieve" to see us three
sitting and sifting, and weighing and measuring with end-
less iteration. Meanwhile you look serenely down from
the heights of Thunderbolt Hill, like Lucretius in his
second book, or Lord Bacon in his beautiful paraphrase of
the same in his Essay " Of Truth " : " It is a pleasure to
stand upon the shore and to see ships tossed upon the
great sea ; " and so forth.
Did you read in the papers of Mr. 's recitation of
The Spanish Student at the Hawthorne Eooms ? I under-
stand that he appeared in a complete suit of red, like
Mephistopheles in Faust !
October 9. Sam Ward came with young Lord Eonald
Gower, a younger brother of the Duchess of Argyll.
15th. Went to Portland for B.'s wedding, — and a very
pretty wedding it was.
18th. Eeturned home. Found sixteen letters.
23d. Lunched with Professor Pierce to meet Dr. Lyon
Playf air, M. P.
1 The book was compiled by Mr. Fields and Mr. Whipple.
278 LETTERS. [1878.
To G. W. Greene.
October 27, 1878-
I shall be deHghted to see you and your wife whenever
you can come. Let me know the day and the hour, and
I will send in for you. If I do not come myself, it is
because the coup^ holds but two.
Mr. Henry W. Holland, of Cambridge, has published a
very handsome book entitled " William Dawes, and his
Eide with Paul Eevere," in which he convicts me of high
historic crimes and misdemeanors. The book will interest
you ; and I can already see you sitting by your favorite
southern window reading its attractive pages.
" New England " makes two volumes of Poems of
Places ; they are among the best. The " Middle States "
are in type, and the " Southern " ready for the printer. I
begin at last to see the end.
To W. M. Green.
October 29, 1878.
I hasten to thank you for your kind remembrance and
for your excellent address to the Board of Trustees of the
" University of the South." I have read it with deep in-
terest. Certainly your forcible and timely words need
no indorsement of mine ; and yet at all times the re-
sponse and sympathy of others is comforting, and in a
certain sense upholds our hands.
I have always, my dear sir, the pleasantest remem-
brance of your visit here, and I have learned with great
sorrow of the affliction that has come upon you.^ When
I hear of a young man's death, I instinctively recall that
touching picture of a father's grief, where David goes
• Bishop Green's son, a clergyman, had died at his post of duty
and mercy during the prevalence of the yellow fever.
1878.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 279
up to the " chamber over the gate " and weeps ; and I
hear the cry of his soul : " 0 Absalom, my son, my son ! "
30th. Wrote 'The Chamber over the Gate.' It was
suggested by writing to the Bishop of Mississippi on the
death of his son.
November 4. Met Dr. Holmes at the printer's. He is
putting to press his Memoir of Motley.
To Miss K .
November 13, 1878.
I am glad you take interest enough in Hyperion to
ask any questions about it, and I answer them with
pleasure. St. Gilgen is a real place. The churchyard
is there, and the chapel and the funeral tablet, and the
inscription. Perhaps you would like to have it in
German. It reads as follows : —
" Blicke nicht traurend in die Vergangenheit. Sie
kommt nicht wieder. Ntitze weisse die Gegenwart. Sie
ist dein. Der diistern Zukunft geh ohne Furcht mit
mannhchen Sinne entgegen."
No author's name is given, for no one signs funeral in-
scriptions, and I do not suppose this was taken from
anybody's writings. In the Gazetteer you may possibly
find " Sanct Wolfgangs See." This is the same lake as
St. Gilgen, St. Wolfgang being at the other end of the
lake.
December 21. Edward Eem^nyi, the famous violinist,
passed the evening with us, with Mr. Ducken to accom-
pany him. Their music was charming.
24th. Mr. Guest and Mrs. Gaskell, of England.
28th. Wrote some verses on Bayard Taylor, for the
memorial meeting.
280 JOUENAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
January 2, 1879. Evening at the Opera, Mme. Gerster
as Lucia. An exquisite soprano voice and an excellent
actress.
3d. A bitter wind howling and whistling. A Catholic
priest, who has left his Church, calls. He looks fright-
ened. Write many letters.
To G. W. Greene.
January 3, 1879.
Last night I was at the opera of Lucia. I thought of
you. How delighted you would have been with the music,
and how tired with sitting on those ni-devant red velvet
cushions, now changed by Time into layers of red sand-
stone !
Mme. Gerster's pure, young, fresh soprano voice is ex-
quisite ; the other singers all good ; chorus and orchestra
good, — a rare completeness in voices and instruments.
The sestetto at the end of the second act was " splendid."
There is to be a meeting at the Music Hall next week
to commemorate the death of Bayard Taylor. I have
written some verses for the occasion, which I hope you
will like ; I will send them to you in a few days.
This is my sixth letter this morning, — a fact which will
account for its meagreness. I do not wish to say the same
things over too often ; you might think me growing old,
— which would be a great mistake ; I have done that
already.
A. calls at the door, "Papa, dear, will you come to
lunch ? " " In a moment." And then to the printer's to
prove —
" Come h duro calle
Lo scendere e '1 salir le sue scale."
You cannot have forgotten them ; if you have, I have
not. I send you to-day a paper with an article on copy-
right. E jpur si muove !
1879.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 281
4th. At the Opera. The Sonnamlula of Bellini, with
Mme. Gerster as Amina. It was beautiful throughout.
5th. Fed the sparrows and wrote a sonnet on ' The
Voice of a Singer.' In the afternoon Minnie Hauk called,
with her mother.
7th. Afternoon at Mrs. S 's ; music. Senora Car-
men Pisani, a Spanish singer of the opera, and a Uttle
French girl of five years, who played wonderfully well
some fugues of Bach! Evening at the Opera. Minnie
Hauk in Carmen, — a rather brilliant opera by a French
composer, Bizet, who died before it was performed.
8th. Curtin comes in the evening and reads parts of a
wild Eussian story of Cossacks, lawless in their lives and
fierce in their religion. Their blind zeal makes one under-
stand better the phrase, " Holy Eussia." It is the spirit of
the Crusaders.
To G. W. Greene.
January 10, 1879.
I think you will feel that I have done wisely in making
up my mind not to venture going in to the Taylor memo-
rial meeting to-night. I could not bear the exposure and
the excitement of the occasion, without too much strain ;
so I have sent my poem to be read by Dr. Holmes. I am
now enjoying a little leisure. All the work is done on
Poems of Places, except reading proofs, which will last
some time longer. I wish I could send your mother the
lovely roses that are blooming and breathing out their lit-
tle lives on the table before me. As I cannot, I send the
wish to do so. You shall have the poem in a day or two ;
it is coming out in the next Atlantic.
14th. T. and Mr. and Mrs. "Waring at lunch. In the
afternoon Louise and Jeanne Douste, the wonderful mu-
282 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
sicians of eight and ten years, came with their father.
They played pieces from Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin,
and Brahms. Dear little girls, both of them ! In the
midst of the music came Mrs. Clara Doria Eogers.
To Q. W. Cwrtis.
January 15, 1879.
I have just received, and have read with unabated inter-
est and delight from beginning to end, your Discourse on
Bryant. It is admirable ; very just and very eloquent.
It is not a painting of the man, but his statue, which may
be seen from all sides, and represents him as he was and
will be in the minds of his countrymen. There is some-
thing very noble and grand in his attitude and aspect.
Many thanks. In return I send you some verses which
I wrote for the Bayard Taylor meeting.
16th. In the evening comes Mr. Balch, who agrees to
let me have the sole charge of the three remaining vol-
umes of Sumner's Works.^
To G. W. Greene.
January 17, 1879.
Have you any faith in the mystery and meaning of
numbers, as Dante had, and Cowley, and other poets ?
Last night, as I lay awake, thinking of many things, the
number eighteen came into my mind, and I was amazed
to find what a part it has played in my life.
I was eighteen years old when I took my college de-
gree ; eighteen years afterward, I was married for the
second time ; I lived with my wife eighteen years, and it
* Mr. Francis Balch, Mr. E. L. Pierce, and Mr. Longfellow were
named by Mr. Sumner as Ms literary executors.
1879.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 283
is eighteen years since she died. These four eighteens
added together make seventy-two, — my age this year.
And then, by way of parenthesis or epicycle, I was
eighteeen years professor in the College here, and have
published eighteen separate volumes of poems.
This is curious ; the necromancers would make a good
deal out of it : I cannot make anything at all.
18th. Send the last copy of Poems of Places to the
printer. That stone is rolled over the lull.
To Jules Marcou.
January 23, 1879.
I should have written you long ago to thank you for
your kind remembrance and for the Chants Populaires de
la Ffanehe ComtS. I promised your son to do so when he
brought me the book, but have been prevented by many
engagements, — those numberless nothings that break the
smooth current of life like pebbles in a stream. It is a
very curious and interesting collection of popular songs ;
and I can say to you, as does Victor Hugo to the editor :
" Je vous remercie, monsieur ; vous m'avez fait connaitre
la Franche Comt4." I wish I had some pleasant news to
send you from Cambridge. You know what a New Eng-
land winter is, and I need not enlarge upon it. Two
handmaidens, InHuenza and Neuralgia, sent from that in-
telligence-office which is generally supposed to furnish us
with cooks, make me as wretched as a Mormon with two
wives.
28th. Among my letters to-day are two from old peo-
ple,— one signed "M. T., seventy-eight years old;" the
other, "S. H., eighty-one years old, and nearly blind."
Why do old people like to boast of their age?
284 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
February 1. Eeceived from Mantua Oanti Inglesi, by
Luigi Carnevali, containing excellent translations of some
of my lyrics.
27th. My seventy -second birthday. A present from
the children of Cambridge of a beautiful armchair, made
from the wood of the Village Blacksmith's chestnut-tree.
To G. W. Greene.
March 7, 1879.
I had a note this morning from Miss P , of An-
dover, in which she sends me the following : —
" I just now heard of a little girl (very little), who has begun to
go to Sunday-school, and was asked by her teacher the question :
' What book do good people like best to read 1 ' Loud her answer
rang : ' Longfellow's Poems ! ' "
Of the birthday-chair I hear nothing farther; but no
doubt shall hear soon, and have written a poem in reply
to anything which may come. That is my only achieve-
ment since you left me. A more important achievement
is the translation of Heine's Poems into Italian by Ber-
nadino Zendrini, — a volume of over four hundred pages,
sent me by the translator, " desideroso di un suo giudizio."
As far as I have examined it, he has done his work well.
And what a difficult work! There is evidently a great
and strange fascination in translating. It seizes people
with irresistible power, and whirls them away till they are
beside themselves. It is like a ghost beckoning one to
follow.
Last night I went to ah opera at the Teatro dell' Ar-
senale, composed by a gentleman of Cambridge, and sung
by amateurs. Very clever, both in composition and
performance.^
1 An amateur company for several years gave very spirited per-
formances in one of the buildings of the disused Arsenal in Cam-
bridge, which they fitted up for the purpose.
1-5
a
w
>
o
m
g
S
1879.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 285
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
March 12, 1879.
Pardon me for not writing sooner to thank you for the
lovely glass jar you sent me on my birthday. I never
saw anything of the kind so beautiful. It stands on my
study table ; whenever I raise my head I see it, and when-
ever I see it, it gives me a fresh delight. It is a golden
sun that lights the room. I hope soon to have the pleas-
ure of showing you my elbow-chair. I cannot send it to
you, but it shall wait your coming ; meanwhile I send you
some verses which I have written to the children by way of
thanks for their present. Please do not show them to any
one out of your own house before the end of the week, as
they are to appear first in the Cambridge papers, as is
right and proper. With renewed thanks,
Yours faithfully.
March 31. Winter has come back in great force, — a
whirling snowstorm to end the month. Have been this
morning at the City Hospital in Boston to see Miss H.,
the reader, who is dying of consumption.
To G. W. Greene.
May 26, 1879.
Your letter, with its pleasant tidings, has just reached
me, and I hasten to send you my cordial congratulations.
As girls will grow up and get married, and there is no
power on earth to prevent it, all we have to do is — to let
them. We, who are on the western side of life, must for-
get ourselves a little, and see with their eyes, who are look-
ing out at the eastern windows ; there it is all sunshine.
I am glad that you are satisfied with K 's choice ;
that is the main point. Everything else will take care of
286 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
itself. We all join in felicitations and good wishes. No
wonder you are still somewhat anxious about your mother ;
though I suppose that any ill effects of the accident, if any
were to be, would have shown themselves before now.^
The visit of the school-girls passed off very pleasantly ;
and such a pretty girl presented the pen ! ^ The teacher
asked after you, and remembered that you were here last
year.
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
June 25, 1879.
... I went to town to see you, but you had already
gone to the seaside. You have escaped the stir and noise
of Class-Day and Commencement-Day week. I think the
Duke of Argyll must be in town, for the Lancers have
just ridden by, the band playing lustily, " The Campbells
are coming." I shall probably find him at the Commence-
ment dinner, to which I am going presently. For the
last ten days I have had Mr. Kitson, the sculptor, staying
with me, making my bust. It is very good ; so say " all
the crowned heads " of Cambridge. " Two or three sit-
tings ! " — that is the illusory phrase. Two or three
sittings have become a standing joke. . . . Give my love
to your patient, and tell him to be of good cheer.
July 11. The Duke of Argyll and his daughters dined
with us. Other guests, — E. H. Dana and his son, Mrs.
L , and Charles Norton.
1 Mr. Greene's mother died in 1886, at the age of one hundred and
two.
2 The "iron pen," afterward celebrated in his verse. It was
made from a bit of iron from the prison of Bonnivard at Chillon, the
handle of oak-wood from the frigate " Constitution," set with three
precious stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine.
1879.] LETTE-RS. 287
To G. W. Greene.
Portland, August 7, 1879.
My principal reason for " not giving you an account of
my narrow escape from shipwreck" was that no such
thing ever happened to me. The last place in which you
would ever look for me would be out at sea in a cat-boat.
I was not there. It was C. and A. coming from Na-
hant; and they reached their landing before the storm
came on. Their only danger was that they were run into
by a yacht, with one man and four women on board ; and
one of the women flew into a passion and cried out : " I
wish they had- been drowned ! " Ten minutes latet the
yacht was capsized, and the four women perished !
I am here on my annual visit to the old house, inhaling
health with every breath of sea-air ; I shall stay here ten
days longer, and then go home to welcome Ernest and his
wife, who leave Liverpool on Tuesday next.
I am "as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."
I only sit here at this upper window and see the people
go by, and commit to memory the signs on the opposite
side of the street.
The seaside laziness overwhelms me like a tide. I close
my letter and my eyes.
To J. T. Fields.
Portland, August 10, 1879.
As soon as I received your note, I sent the poem [' K^ra-
mos'] to Mr. Alden. Many thanks to you, my noble
friend and financier ; I hope the Harpers will be as well
satisfied with the transaction as I am.^
Church-bells ringing; clatter of church-going feet on
the pavement ; boys crying, " Boston Herald ! " voices of
1 The honorarium was one thousand dollars.
288 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
passing men and women, — these are the sounds that
come to me at this upper window, looking down into the
street. I contrast all this with last Sunday's silence at
Manchester-by-the-Sea, and remember my delightful visit
there. Then comes the thought of the moonlight and the
music, and Shelley's verses,
" As the moon's soft splendor
O'er the faint, cold starlight of heaveu
Is thrown ; "
and so on, to
" Some world far from ours,
Where moonlight and music and feeling
Are one."
How beautiful this song would sound if set to music by
Mrs. B , and chanted by her in the twilight !
Portland is a pleasant place. So are other places, — as
may be seen by certain poems written about them. It is
a pity that we cannot be in more than one at a time.
Avgust 22. As I was standing at my front door this
morning, a lady in black came up and asked : " Is this
the house where Longfellow was bom ? "
" No, he was not born here;"
" Did he die here ? "
" Not yet."
" Are you Longfellow ? "
" I am."
" I thought you died two years ago."
25th. I went to Boston to call on Dr. Ackland, of
Oxford.
26th. I received the diploma of th^Spanish Academy.
28th. Dr. Ackland called, with his son. He took me
aside to speak of his beautiful wife, who lately died. He
1879.] JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 289
is overwhelmed with grief and bewildered by the rush of
events, but tries to rise above it all into
" that blessed mood
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world
Is Ughteued."
September 1. Born in the southwest chamber of the
Craigie House, at ten o'clock, a new Eichard Henry Dana ;
my first grandchild.
2d. Mr. and Mrs. Leycester, of Knutsford, Cheshire,
England, called. Charming people ; I remember meeting
her on the Roman Campagna in 1869.
2 2d. Dr. Plumptre, Professor in King's College, Lon-
don, and translator of Sophocles and .iEschylus, with his
wife and the Eev. J. Cotton Smith, came to lunch. She
is sister of the late Rev. F. D. Maurice. In the afternoon
Miss T., a charming reader.
To G. W. Greene.
October 7, 1879.
The seventh of October, and the thermometer in. my
study, with doors and windows open, at seventy-four!
But out of doors the scene is splendid, and the house is
walled about with bronze and gold. It is just the same
with you; and I wiU not dilate upon it. Nor do I see
how I am ever to get to Wiudmill Cottage and see the
null at work. One thing after another prevents ; and I
regret it all the more because, the house here being full,
I cannot ask you to come to me.
This autumn my time has been more than ever broken
in upon and devastated. It goes from bad to worse.
" Ach ! ich bin des Treibens mude !
Wozu all dies Leid und Lust 1
Siisse Friede,
Komm, 0 komm in meine Brust ! "
19
290 JOURNAL AND LETTERS. [1879.
How often I repeat these lines of Goethe ! And then,
the letters — the daily inundation of letters ! Luckily,
some require no answer ; as, for instance, this from a
teacher in a Western college : " Please inform me whether
or not jovn feelings were in sympathy with your immortal
thought when you wrote ' The Bridge.' "
However, I have said enough on that subject, and will
never allude to it again, if I can help it.
October 9. This forenoon fourteen callers ; thirteen of
them English.
To Ms Sister A.
November 20, 1879.
Thanks for your note of last evening. I hasten to an-
swer it, and send you a correct list of the personages of
' The Wayside Inn.'
The precious stones in the " Iron Pen " are a white
Phenacite from Siberia, a yellow Zircon from Ceylon, a
red Tourmaline from Maine.
Xhe " little Dana boy " is thriving, and begins to notice
things about him. Every afternoon I give him a music-
lesson. He sits attentively listening while I play to him
on the piano, and evidently thinks me equal to Eubinstein
or Perabo.
To-day we have a fall of snow, but without wind, —
which makes the landscape beautiful. The trees are all in
full blossom with snowflakes.
To J. T. Fields.
December 17, 1879.
Thanks for this pretty little volume of Verses for a Few
Friends, — the prettiest of Christmas gifts. This morning I
have been reading all the comic poems, and have enjoyed
1879.] LETTERS. 291
them extremely, and particularly my old favorite, 'The
Owl Critic' Thanks again and again !
"What do you know of the proposed dinner in New York
on Burns's birthday ? I have received the most tremen-
dous invitation from a gentleman, — in authority, I sup-
pose, — in which he says : " It will be, in fact, as it were
not merely a meeting of mental and moral giants, but,
metaphorically speaking, a council of literary giants."
Only think of it ! What a dinner-party ! ^
1 Mr. Longfellow of course did not attend this dinner, if it ever was
given. But the invitation turned his thoughts towai'd Burns ; and
we probably owe to it the poem which he wrote some months later,
and which was printed in Ultima Thule. Its publication brought
him two letters from Scotland, in which there is something more
singular than that they should have reached him on the same day.
Here is the first : —
Thobnliebank, Glasgow, July 18, 1880.
Master, — Permit me to thank you for your wonderful verses, which I have
just read to-day, on Robert Burns. They will touch the heart of every true
Scotsman ; and, as one, I cannot refrain from expressing my gratitude.
I am your humble servant,
E. L.
The second reads thus : —
James Square, Edinburgh, July 19.
Dear Sib, — Hoping that the information conveyed herein may be a suffi-
cient warrant for the intrusion of a stranger. Your new poem about Eobert
Bums has created a melancholy interest. When Bums was on his death-bed,
in Dumfries, one of the BaUlies of the town went to his bedside and endeavored
to get him to express a belief of, and trust in, Christ. Instead of doing so.
Bums replied : " In a hundred years they will be worshipping me. " Of the truth
of these facts there is no room for doubt, as the Baillie told the foregoing to a
Miss H , of Dumfries, who was an elderly lady in my young days, and she
told it to me. Bums had no personal experience of the human soul created
anew in Christ Jesus, without which there can be no entrance into heaven.
But Bums had extensive knowledge of fallen hiraian nature. It was this that
led him to prophesy that in a hundred years men would be worshipping him, —
a prophecy which is being fulfilled in many quarters. Your poem is an in-
stance of it. These facts having been brought before you, it will not surprise
you that the last verse of your poem made me feel that it was an effort to hold
fellowship and friendly intercourse with one in the place of eternal woe.
292 LETTERS. [1879.
One may imagine a way of presenting the theological dogma which
might have awakened the poet's impatient reply But it must be
permitted, under the circumstances, to doubt whether Bums's words
are exactly quoted. Still, they would not mean anything very bad
if by " worship " he intended only such homage as " the last verse "
is "An instance of : " —
" His presence haunts tMs Toom to-night, —
A form of mingled mist and light,
From that far coast
Welcome heneath this roof of mine !
Welcome ! this vacant chair is thine.
Dear guest and ghost! "
CHAPTER XV.
THE LAST YEARS.
1880-1882.
JanvAtry 1. I begin the year with a Folk-song.
Have written to-day ' The Maiden and the Weathercock,'
to keep company with 'The Sifting of Peter/ written
some weeks ago.
2d. Six Pennsylvanians and one Bostonian called, in
a body.
To Q. W. Greene.
February 25, 1880.
E was here this morning, and said that he had
some new ideas on the hexameter. I told him I thought
the rules of that metre were pretty well established
already; but he blandly insisted that he had his own
views on the subject.
Day after to-morrow will be my birthday. As the
Spaniards say, "Mis setenta y tres anos, no hay quien
me los quite." ^ I heartily wish the day were over ; for
such a multitude of letters as I receive from schoolboys
and schoolgirls who are going to celebrate the day, is
quite amazing. If I were Briareus, or a disembodied echo,
1 " My seventy-three years, there is no one who can take them
from me."
294 THE LAST YEARS. [1880.
I could not answer them. You will say that Briareus
could not write, — which is highly probable; and that
echo never answers anything, but only repeats what is
said, — and that is certainly true.
We have a charming actress here, — Miss Neilson. I
have seen her in Twelfth Night and in Cymbeline ; and
she is admirable in both.
To G. W. Greene.
April 18, 1880.
I have written several poems of late; one of which,
' The Windmill,' I send you. You will see at a glance it
is not your windmill ; for yours is like a butterfly with
its wings pulled off. I think this is the first poem ever
written on the subject.
I have a little volume in press, to appear early in the
autumn. I call it Ultima Thule ; and the motto is from
Horace : —
" precor, integrd
Cum mente, nee turpem senectam
Degere, nee eitharS carentem." ^
«
I am anxious to read the whole to you. When will
you and your wife come ? E. has moved to Boston, and
the vacant room awaits you. The weather is not all you
could wish, biit the welcome will be.
May 19. Our opinions are biassed by our limitations.
Poets who cannot write long poems think that no long
poems should be written.
^ " My prayer is, that with mind unshattered I may pass an old
age neither unworthy nor without song." — Odes, I. xxxi.
The volume was dedicated to Mr. Greene, in a poem.
1880.]
THE LAST YEARS. 295
June 13. Yesterday I had a visit from two schools ;
some sixty girls and boys, in all. It seems to give them
so much pleasure, that it gives me pleasure.
21st. The Brazilian Consul-General called, with a
message of friendly remembrance from his Emperor, Dom
Pedro, who invites me to be his guest at Kio for a month.
Also Mrs. N , and Miss S of New York, who
gave me a fan curiously made of fibres of Indian corn,
and resembling a great sunflower. Then Mr. Henry Hud-
son, of Shakespeare fame, with three young ladies.
September 15. Ultima Thule published.^
To Mrs. J. T. Fields.
September 29, 1880.
Thanks for your kind and most amiable letter ; as
many thanks' as there are poems in the book you so gen-
erously praise. Each of them shall thank you.
I regret more than ever that I could not come to
Manchester this summer. I was pulled about in the
most extraordinary manner, — first to Nahant, then to
Portland, then back again to Nahant, then to East Green-
wich, then Nahant once more; finally bringing up here,
and coming to anchor in the old Snug Harbor. The visit
to Greenwich was to attend the wedding. And a beauti-
ful wedding it was ; an ideal vUIage wedding, in a pretty
church; — the Windmill Cottage of our friend Greene
1 Mr. Lowell wrote him from London : " I have just been read-
ing, with a feeling I will not mar by trying to express it, your
Ultima Thule. You wiU understand the pang of pleasurable home-
sickness it gave me. It is like you, from the first line to the last.
Never was your hand firmer. If Gil Bias had been your secretary,
he need never have lost his place. If I could drop in on you as I
used, ... I should tell you that you had misreckoned the height of
the eun, and were not up with Ultima Thule by a good many degrees
yet. Do such fruits grow there ? "
296 THE LAST YEARS. [1880.
resplendent witli autumnal flowers. In one of the rooms
was a tea-kettle hanging on a crane in the fireplace. So
begins a new household.
Yesterday Mrs. Horsford came with letters from Nor-
way, giving particulars of Ole Bull's last days, his death,
and burial. The account is very touching. All Bergen's
flags at half-mast ; telegram from the King ; funeral ora-
tion by the poet Bjornsen. The dear old musician was
carried from his island to the mainland in a steamboat,
followed by a long line of others. No viking ever had
such a funeral.
October 11. It is not the possession of a thing, but the
use of it, which gives it value.
To G. W. Greene.
November 23, 1880.
I hope you will be here when the Mapleson Italian
Opera comes ; you will hear fine music.
But the new operas, — ah ! I do not think you would
care much for them. For my own part, I confess, I like
the music of the past better than the music of the future.
At present, we are ground between the upper and nether
millstones of the two ; and rather a pleasant grind it is,
after all.
The other night I went to hear Boito's Mefistqfele;
very powerful, but wild and weird beyond conception.
Boito, you know, is called " the Wagner of Italy."
Decemher 4. A censorious critic is often Kke a boy
sharpening a penknife. The blade suddenly closes and
cuts his fingers.
8th. I have often had great joy in little things, — and
often little joy in great things.
1880.] THE LAST YEARS. 2,97
To Miss B .
December 9, 1880.
In reply to your letter received this morning, I would
inform you that in the poem of ' The Singers ' I intended
to indicate schools or classes only, — the Lyric, the Epic,
and the Devotional or Didactic. I had no reference
whatever to individual poets, except so far as they are
types or representatives of these classes.
From Lord Houghton.
Elmbte Hall, 1880.
Deae Me. Longfellow, — Mr. Henschel, our chief
bass-singer, desires to be introduced to you. It is pleas-
ant to present singer to singer. Mr. H. is a German by
origin, but has made himself half an Englishman, and is
going, in a very short time, to make himself, for the other
and better half, an American, by marrying a Boston lady.
I write from the great Musical Festival at Leeds, my
neighboring town, which has had this peculiarity, that its
two most successful pieces have been good music applied
to good poetry. Music is usually married to such very
wretched verse that to hear Milman's ' Martyr of Anti-
och ' and your ' Building of the Ship ' set to harmony and
admirably sung, has been a rare aesthetic pleasure. I am
too glad of this and every opportunity to express to you
my deep regard, and to hope that your Ultima Thule
may turn out to be no more true than the Britannic one
of the old Eoman poet. ^
I am yours very truly,
Houghton.
1 The reference, of course, is to the chorus in Seneca's Medea,
ending, —
" Nee sit terris
Xntima Thule."
" And no more shall Thule be the last of the lands."
298 THE LAST YBAES. [1881.
25tL In the forenoon General Sherman called, with
his son-in-law, Lieutenant Thackara, of the Navy, Colonel
Bacon, his aide-de-camp, and Mr. , of Boston. Then
Sam "Ward and , who reminds me of the Baroness in
Wilhelm Meister. In the evening, music.
January 1, 1881. Bitter cold weather. With fire and
furnace in full blast, impossible to warm the house.
3d. Seventeen letters received to-day; aU but three
asking some favor!
6th. Salvini and Monti at lunch.
8th. Monti at dinner. In the evening he played to
us from the Sonnamhula.
13th. After all, great writers, even the greatest, illu-
mine but a small space round them, — at most, a little
hemisphere of light. Egypt, Arabia, Turkey, Persia, China,
know nothing of Dante or Shakespeare or Milton.
February 21. Some forty or more schools in the West
are preparing to celebrate my seventy-fourth birthday;
and all write me letters and request letters. I send to
each some stanza, with signature and good wishes.
22d. A gentleman writes me for " your autograph in
your own handwriting."
23d. Two women in black called to-day. One of
them said she was a descendant of the English philoso-
pher, John Locke ; and that she was going to establish a
society for the suppression of cruelty to letter-carriers.
A lady in Ohio sends me one hundred blank cards, with
the request that I will write my name on each, as she
wishes to distribute them among her guests at a party she
is to give on my birthday.
24th. Am receiving from ten to twenty letters daily
with all kinds of questions and requests.
25th. Letters, letters, letters! Some I answer, but
many, and most, I cannot.
1881.] THE LAST YEARS. 299
26th. A birthday dinner in advance, at Mr. Houghton's.
Holmes, Howells, Aldrich, Miss Bates, and Miss Jewett,
author of Deephaven.
27th. My seventy-fourth birthday. I am surrounded
by roses and lilies. Flowers everywhere, —
" And that which should accompany old age.
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends.''
March 1. I like fog, it is so mysterious, transfiguring
all things. The wind drives it like a smoke. The brown
branches of the trees against the dusk of the sky.
April 1. A pleasant beginning of the month after a
week of snow and rain, which have kept me prisoner.
Have read with much interest Abel Stevens's Life of
Mme. de StaeL
To G. W. Greene.
April 3, 1881.
The bad weather of last week, and a bad cold of my
own, made me give up my intended trip to Germantown,
which I believe I mentioned in my last letter.
The famous French actress, Sara Bernhardt, has been
again in Boston, but I did not see her. The fame of her
extreme thinness has reached far and wide. A common
man, driving by here in a cart, with a poor lank horse,
gave him a cut with his whip, crying, " Get up ! Sara
Bernhardt ! "
As an offset to this, here is a portrait of me, as I
seemed to a compositor in the summer of 1851, when he
was setting up The Golden Legend. He is now an editor
in Lansing, and thus paints me in his paper : " He was
then a hale, portly, fine-looking man, nearly six feet in
height, well-proportioned, with a tendency to fatness;
brown hair and blue eyes, and bearing the general appear-
300 THE LAST YEARS. [1881.
ance of a comfortable hotel-keeper." This surpasses the
Newport bookseller, who exclaimed, "Why! you look
more like a sea-captain than a poet ! "
I send you to-day, an English publisher's circular, with
some remarks on international copyright.
6th. There is great pleasure in doing without things ;
quite as much sometimes, I think, as in having them.
18th. At the Globe, to see Salvini in Othello. He in
Italian ; the rest in English.
10th. Salvini came this afternoon, and read me a paper
he has written on Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth.
To G. W. Greene.
April 25, 1881.
I told you some time ago that Fields was suffering
from angina pectoris. He seemed to recover, and was
here a week ago, not quite well, but in his usual merry
mood.
Last night, about ten o'clock, sitting among his friends,
a sudden alarm of fire startled him; he sprang up and
rushed to the window, and then sank iato a chair, rallied
for a moment, and died. His funeral will be to-morrow, at
noon; very private, to avoid a crowd.
Another friend gone ! It is a great shock to me, as it
will be to you.
29th. A sorrowful and distracted week. Fields died
on Sunday, the 24th, and was buried on Tuesday. Dr.
Palfrey died on Tuesday, and will be buried to-day. Two
old and intimate friends in one week !
1881.] THE LAST YEAES. 301
To G. W. Greene.
May 16, 1881.
A book by the window is the best medicine. I have
been trying "Walpole's Letters, which are always a remedy
for a dull hour.
Edith and her boys are with me, and bring back the
Golden Age to the old house.
" Jam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto,"
and child-voices are heard again from the upper cham-
bers, and footsteps of the coming generation.
I have written some lines in memory of Fields, which
you will find on the last page of the June Atlantic.^
To G. W. Greene.
June 22, 1881.
I have not written to you of late, because I have a lame
wrist, and writing is painful. But I will try to answer
your questions as well as I can.
During my first visit to Europe, I wrote no verses, save
the few lines preserved in Outre-Mer. In France, my
reading was mostly prose ; in Spain, it was about equally
divided between poetry and prose ; in Italy mostly poetry ;
and in Germany the same.
I do not remember translating anything before going
to Brunswick. I think I began with the poem of Luis de
Gongora, ' Let me go warm.' You will find it in Poets and
Poetry of Europe, page 695. This was in 1829 or 1830.
Then followed various pieces in the North American
Eeview articles, and finally, the Capias de Manrique.
I am sorry you are feeling depressed. But we must
neither of us hope to be as strong as we were fifty years
ago. I am also sorry I could not have you this month of
1 ' Auf Wiedersehen : in memory of J. T. F,'
302 THE LAST YEARS. [1881.
June, though you would have shivered v^ith cold. After
all, it may be lucky you did not come. Immediately after
the noisy and patriotic Fourth, I shall run to Portland for
a week, and then go to Nahant.
I send you some autographs for your mother, with my
kindest regards.
To 0. W. Greene.
Portland, July 12, 1881.
Portland has lost none of its charms. The weather is
superb, and the air equal to that of Newport or East
Greenwich or any other Ehode Island seashore. I shall
remain here a week or two longer, and think of running up
to North Conway and to Sebago, to see the winding Songo
once more. If I carried out all my plans, I should be a
great traveller. The end of this month and the month of
August I shall devote to Nahant; then back to the Craigie
House, — if it is n't burnt down, as I always fancy it will
be when I am away.
It is very pleasant sitting here and dictating letters. It
is like thinking what one will say, without taking the
trouble of writing it. I have discovered a new pleasure.
To G. W. Greene.
September 20, 1881.
Since learning the sad news from Long Branch this
morning [of President Garfield's death], Dante's line has
been running in my mind : —
" E venni dal martirio a questa pace." '
And what a martyrdom ! Twelve weeks of pain and
struggle for life at last are ended.
* Paradiso xv. 148 : "I came from martyrdom unto this peace.'"
So closes the sonnet which he wrote on Garfield's death.
v^^
^
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s>f\^
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1-3
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1881.] THE LAST YEARS. 303
Let us turn to some other subject. You will be glad
to know that we are having' a copy made in Florence of
Benvenuto da Imola's Commentary on the Divina Corn-
media. Within a year we shall have the first volume
ready for the press, and if we can get subscribers enough,
it will be published without delay.
I send back the foolish verses to which some wag has
appended your name ; I hope you will take no notice of
the matter. If nothing is said, it will soon be forgotten.
Only you might leave a disavowal of the authorship
among your papers, so that no one can say you never
denied it.
I am rather busy with answering schoolgirls.
To G. W. Greene.
September 26, 1881.
What splendid weather is this ! It is truly Virgil's
" alienis mensibus aestas," or as Harriet Preston so grace-
fully translates it, —
" Summer days
In months that are not summer's."
I am glad there should be so resplendent a morning as
this for the funeral of our President. Let us hope that
our new King Arthur may have inherited the virtues of
his illustrious namesake, and will not undervalue or
neglect his great opportunity.
I have lately received from the Duca di Sermoneta,
his Tre Ohiose, on certain passages of the Commedia. He
thinks that the angel who opens the gates of the City of
Dis by a touch of his rod, was not an angel at all, but
— who do you think ? Simply ^neas! I have also re-
ceived from Holland translations in Dutch of Outre-Mer,
Kavanagh, and Hyperion.
304 THE LAST YEARS. [18S1.
My summer-scattered family are slowly gathering
together again. Nichols comes with his proof-sheets.
Bedev/nt Saturnia vegna!
A year ago, was engaged to make an Index to Sum-
ner's "Works. At the last accounts he had completed six
pages of the first volume. At this rate, he wiU not finish
his work before the middle of the next century ! I am
making the Index myself, and have already reached the
tenth volume.
October. This month and all November and December
I was confined to my room by a violent attack of vertigo,
followed by nervous prostration.
To G. W. Greene.
October 28, 1881.
I am creeping along slowly, but have not yet left my
room. I amuse myself as well as I can, by looking out
of the window and seeing the leaves fall. Then I take
a turn at Miss Berry's Journal and Correspondence, —
Walpole's Miss Berry, — which I find very amusing.
I go to bed early and get up late, and like it so well
that I mean to stay in my room a long while yet, — per-
haps aU winter. I see no one as yet, and find something
rather pleasant in having the world shut out. This free-
dom from callers is a great relief.
" ' Shut, shut the door, good John,' fatigued, I said,
" ' Tie up the knocker, — say I 'm sick, I 'm dead.' "
Miss Berry says, " I suffer from what I am, from what
I have been, from what I might have been, and from
what I never shall be." Very well said. I suppose every
one suffers at times from some such fleeting fancy as this.
Whittier writes me that he dreads the coming winter.
I do not ; the thought brings with it a sense of rest and
seclusion.
1881.] THE LAST TEARS. 305
To G. W. Chernie.
[Enclosing a printed circular.]
November 28, 1881.
I have come to this at last, and find it an immense
relief : —
" On accoimt of illness, Mr. Longfellow finds it impossible to
answer any letters at present.
" He can only acknowledge their receipt, and regret his inability
to do more.
"Cambeidge, Mass.''
Of course it is n't meant for, you and other friends,
but for those who begin their letters with the words,
"Though an entire stranger."
1 will attend to your request about Ultima Thule, as
soon as I am well enough. I am getting better slowly
from day to day; no perceptible difference, only from
week to week. To-day I am better than I have been at
any time.
I do not know who is to write a Life of Fields. Mrs.
Fields has already published her Eeminiscences, which
are very interesting, and written with good taste and judg-
ment, — a difficult task well done.
To G. W. Greene.
December 25, 1881.
I begin by wishing you a Merry Christmas ! Mine,
I am sorry to say, is not a very merry one. I don't get
strength yet, and consequently, don't get well. Pazienza !
I agree with you about the North American Eeview.
There is a bit of the romance of our youth connected with
it. If we were young, we should probably want to get
possession of it. It should return, Hke the Prodigal Son,
20
306 THE LAST YEARS. [1882.
to its father's house, and become again a solid and respect-
able quarterly.
I send you a little cutting from a newspaper, which
will gratify you. I was sorry not to see the French dele-
gation when it was here.^
To William Senter (Mayor of Portland).
January 12, 1882.
I have had the pleasure of receiving your letter, with its
enclosed copy of the Eesolutions of the city authorities of
Portland in reference to my seventy-fifth birthday. I
hasten to thank you and them for the honor conferred
upon me. I hardly need assure you, dear sir, that this
mark of consideration from my native city is very gratify-
ing to me ; and I regret extremely that, on account of my
ill-health, I am forced to decline the public reception of-
fered me. My physician has prescribed absolute rest ; and
I do not see any chance of my being able to go to Port-
land in February, so slow is recovery from nervous pros-
tration.
I am, dear sir, with great regard, yours faithfully.
To Samuel Ward.
January 23, 1882.
" Whom the gods love, die young," because they never
grow old, though they may live to fourscore years and
upward. So say I whenever I read your graceful and
sportive fancies in the papers you send me or in those I
1 A party of French officers and civilians, among them a grand-
son of Lafayette, had, by invitation, come over to attend the centen-
nial celebration of the Surrender of Comwallis at Yorktown, which
closed the War of the Revolution. They visited Craigie House, but
Mr. Longfellow was not weU enough to see them.
1882.] THE LAST YEARS. 307
send you. I am now waiting for the last announced in
your letter of yesterday, but not yet arrived.
Pardon my not writing sooner and oftener. My day is
very short, as I get up late, and go to bed early, — a kind
of Arctic winter's day, when the sun is above the horizon
for a few hours only.
Yes, the ' Hermes ' went into the Century.^
I come back to where I began, — the perpetual youth
of some people. You remember the anecdote of Ducis.
When somebody said of him, " II est tomb^ en enfance,"
a friend replied, " Non, n est rentr^ en jeunesse." That
is the polite way of putting things.
To Bessie M .^
March 16, 1882.
My deae Miss Bessie, — I thank you very much for
the poem you wrote me on my birthday, a copy of which
your father sent me. It was very sweet and simple, and
does you great credit. I do not think there are many
girls of your age who can write so well. I myself do not
know of any. It was very good of you to remember my
birthday at all, and to have you remember it in so sweet
a way is very pleasant and gratifying to me.
* The poem ' Hermes Trismegistus.' After this, Mr. Longfellow
wrote hut four poems, — ' Mad River,' ' Possibilities,' ' Decoration
Day,' and 'The Bells of San Bias.'
^ This note, addressed to a young girl in Pennsylvania, was prob-
ably the last letter written by Mr. Longfellow. Two days later he
was seized with the illness which proved fatal
CHAPTER XVI.
REMINISCENCES.
Through the kindness of the writers I have
been permitted to include in this volume some
personal recollections which have already appeared
in print. The first of these in point of date is
from the pen of Mr. William Winter.
The least of us who have recollections of such a man
as Longfellow may surely venture, now, to add them to
the general stock of knowledge without incurring the
reproach of intrusiveness. My remembrance of him goes
back to a period about thirty years ago, when he was a
professor in Harvard University. I had read every line
he had then published ; and such was the affection he
inspired, even in a boyish mind, that on many a summer
night I have walked several miles to his house, only to
put my hand upon the latch of his gate, which he himself
had touched. More than any one else among the many
famous persons whom, since then, it has been my fortune
to know, he aroused this feeling of mingled tenderness
and reverence. I saw him often — walking in the streets
of Cambridge, or looking at the books in the old shop of
Ticknor and Fields at the corner of Washington and
School streets in Boston — long before I was honored
with his personal acquaintance ; and I observed him
closely, — as a youth naturally observes the object of his
honest admiration. His dignity and grace, and the beau-
REMINISCENCES. 309
tiful refinement of his countenance, together with his
perfect taste in dress and the exquisite simplicity of his
manners, made him the absolute ideal of what a poet
should be. His voice, too, was soft, sweet, and musical,
and, like his face, it had the innate charm of tranquillity.
His eyes were blue-gray, very bright and brave, change-
able under the influence of emotion (as, afterward, I often
saw) ; but mostly calm, grave, attentive, and gentle. The
habitual expression of his face was not that of sadness ;
and yet it was pensive. Perhaps it may be best described
as that of serious and tender thoughtfulness. He had
conquered his own sorrows thus far ; but the sorrows of
others threw their shadow over him, — as he sweetly and
humanely says in his pathetic ballad of ' The Bridge.'
One day (after he had bestowed on me the honor and
blessing of his friendship, which, thank God, I never lost)
he chanced to stop his caniage just in front of the old
Tudor BuOding in Court Street, Boston, to speak to me ;
and I remember observing then the sweet, wistful, half-
sad, far-away look in his sensitive face, and thinking he
looked Uke a man who had suffered, or might yet suffer,
great affliction. There was a strange touch of sorrowful
majesty and prophetic fortitude commingled with the
composure and kindness of his features.
It was in April, 1854, that I became personally ac-
quainted with Longfellow ; and he was the first literary
friend I ever had, — greeting me as a young aspirant in
literature, and holding out to me the hand of fellowship
and encouragement. He allowed me to dedicate to him
a volume of my verses, published in that year, being the
first of my ventures. . . . His spontaneous desire, the
natural instinct of his great heart, was to be helpful, —
to lift up the lowly, to strengthen the weak, to bring out
the best in every person, to dry every tear, and make
every pathway smooth. It is saying but little to say that
310 REMINISCENCES.
he never spoke a harsh word, except against injustice and
wrong. He was the natural friend and earnest advocate
of every good cause and right idea. His words about the
absent were always considerate, and he never lost a prac-
tical opportunity of doing good.
For the infirmities of humanity he was charity itself,
and he shrank from harshness as from a positive sin. " It
is the prerogative of the poet," he once said to me, in those
old days, " to give pleasure ; but it is the critic's province
to give pain." He had, indeed, but a slender esteem for
the critic's province. Yet his tolerant nature found ex-
cuses for even as virulent and hostile a critic as his assail-
ant and traducer, Edgar Allan Poe, of whom I have
heard him speak with genuine pity. His words were few
and unobtrusive, and they clearly indicated his conscious-
ness that Poe had grossly abused and maligned him ; but
instead of resentment for injury, they displayed only sor-
row for an unfortunate and half-crazed adversary. There
was a little volume of Poe's poems — an English edition
— on the library table ; and at sight of this I was prompted
to ask Longfellow if Poe had ever personally met him, —
" because," I said, " if he had known you, it is impossible
he could have written about you in such a manner." He
answered that he had never seen Poe. . . . Then, after a
pause of musing, he added, very gravely : " My works
seemed to give him much trouble, first and last ; but Mr.
Poe is dead and gone, and I am aUve and still writing —
and that is the end of the matter. I never answered Mr.
Poe's attacks ; and I would advise you now, at the outset
of your literary life, never to take notice of any attacks
that may be made upon you. Let them all pass." He
then took up the volume of Poe, and, turning the leaves,
particularly commended the stanzas entitled ' For Annie'
and * The Haunted Palace.' Then, stiU speaking of crit-
icism, he mentioned the great number of newspaper and
"REMINISCENCES. 311
magazine articles, about his own writings, that were re-
ceived by him, — sent, apparently, by their writers. "I
look at the first few lines," he said ; " and if I find that the
article has been written in a kindly spirit, I read it through :
but if I find that the intention is to wound, I drop the
paper into my fire, and so dismiss it. In that way one
escapes much annoyance."
Longfellow liked to talk of young poets, and he had an
equally humorous and kind way of noticing the foibles of
the literary character. Standing in the porch, one summer
day, and observing the noble elms in front of his house, he
recalled a visit made to him, long before, by one of the
many bards, now extinct, who are embalmed in Griswold.
Then suddenly assuming a burly, martial air, he seemed
to reproduce for me the exact figure and manner of the
youthful enthusiast, who had tossed back his long hair,
gazed approvingly on the elms, and in a deep voice ex-
claimed : " I see, Mr. Longfellow, that you have many trees
— I love trees ! ! " " It was," said the poet, " as if he
gave a certificate to all the neighboring vegetation." A
few words like these, said in Longfellow's peculiar dry,
humorous manner, with a twinkle of the eye and a quietly
droll inflection of the voice, had a certain charm of mirth
that cannot be described. It was that same demure play-
fulness which led him, when vn-iting, to speak of the lady
who wore flowers " on the congregation side of her bon-
net," or to extol those broad, magnificent Western roads,
which " dwindle to a squirrel-track and run up a tree."
He had no particle of the acidity of sparkling and biting
wit ; but he had abundant, playful humor, that was full of
kindness, and that toyed good-naturedly with all the trifles
of life. That such a sense of fun should be amused by the
ludicrous peculiarities of a juvenile bard was inevitable.
I recaU many talks with him about poetry, and the
avenues of literary labor, and the discipline of the mind
312 REMINISCENCES.
in youth. His counsel was always summed up in two
words, — calmness and patience. He did not believe in
seeking experience, or in going to meet burdens. " What
you desire will come, if you wUl but wait for it," — that
he said to me again and again. " My ambition once was,"
he remarked, " to edit a magazine. Since then the oppor-
tunity has been offered to me many times — and I did not
take it, and would not." . . .
His sense of humor found especial pleasure in the inap-
propriate words that were sometimes said to him by per-
sons whose design it was to be complimentary ; and he
would relate, with a keen relish of their pleasantry, anec-
dotes to illustrate this form of social blunder. Years ago
he told me, at Cambridge, about the strange gentleman
who was led up to him and introduced at Newport, and
who straightway said, with enthusiastic fervor : " Mr.
Longfellow, I have long desired the honor of knowing
you ! Sir, I am one of thee few men who have read your
'Evangeline.'" . . .
About poetry he talked with the earnestness of what
was a genuine passion, and yet with no particle of self-
assertion. Tennyson's ' Princess ' was a new book when
first I heard him speak of it, and I remember Mrs. Long-
fellow sitting with that volume in her hands and reading
it by the evening lamp. The delicate loveliness of the
little lyrical pieces that are interspersed throughout its
text was, in particular, dwelt upon as a supreme merit.
Among his own poems his favorite at that time was
' Evangeline ; ' but he said that the style of versification
which pleased him best was that of ' The Day is Done ; '
nor do I wonder, reading this now, together with 'The
Bridge,' 'Twilight,' 'The Children's Hour,' and 'The Open
Window,' and finding them so exquisite both in pathos
and music. He said also that he sometimes wrote poems
that were for himself alone, that he should not care ever
REMINISCENCES. 313
to publish, because they were too delicate for publication.
One of his sayings was that " the desire of the young poet
is not for applause, but for recognition." He much com-
mended the example, in one respect, of the renowned
Italian poet Alfieri, who caused himself to be bound into
his Hbrary chair and left for a certain period of time, each
day, at his library table — his servants being strictly en-
joined not to release him till that time had passed : by
this means he forced himself to labor. No man ever be-
lieved more firmly than Longfellow did in regular, pro-
portioned, resolute, incessant industry. His poem of ' The
Builders ' contains his creed ; his poem of ' The Ladder of
St. Augustine' is the philosophy of his career. Yet I
have many times heard him say "the mind cannot be
controlled ;." and the fact that he was, when at his best,
a poet of pure inspiration, is proved beyond possibility of
doubt by such poems as ' Sandalphon,' ' My Lost Youth,'
'The Beleaguered City,' 'The Fire of Drift-wood,' 'Sus-
piria,' 'The Secret of the Sea,' ' The Two Angels,' and ' The
Warden of the Cinque Ports.' Either of them is worthy
of the brightest name that ever was written on the scroll
of the lyric Muse.
The two writers of whom he oftenest spoke, within my
hearing, were Lowell and Hawthorne. Of Lowell he said,
"He is one of the manliest and noblest men that ever
lived." " Hawthorne often came into this room," he said,
"and sometimes he would go there, behind the window
curtains, and remain in silent revery the whole evening.
No one disturbed him; he came and went as he liked.
He was a mysterious man." With Irving's works he was
especially familiar, and he often quoted from them in his
talk to me. One summer day at his cottage at Nahant I
found him reading Cooper's sea-stories, and had the com-
fort of hearing from his lips a tribute to that great
writer, — the foremost novelist in American literature,
314 REMINISCENCES.
unmatched since Scott. . . . Longfellow was in fine spirits
that day, and very happy ; and I have always thought of
him as he looked then, holding his daughter Edith in his
arms,— a little child, with long, golden hair, and lovely,
merry face, — and by his mere presence making the sun-
shine brighter and the place more sacred with kindness
and peace.
The best portrait of Longfellow is the one made by
Samuel Lawrence ; and it is the best because it gives the
noble and spirited poise and action of his head, shows his
clean-cut, strong, yet delicate features unmasked with a
beard, and preserves that alert, inspired expression which
came into his face when he was affected by any strong
emotion. I recall Mrs. Longfellow's commendation of it
in a fireside talk. It was her favorite portrait of him.
We discussed together Thomas Buchanan Eead's portrait
of him and of his three daughters, when those pictures
were yet fresh from the easel. I remember speaking to
him of a fancied resemblance between the face of Mrs.
Longfellow and the face of ' Evangeline ' in Faed's well-
known picture. He said that others had noticed it, but
that he himself did not perceive it. Yet I think those
faces were alike, in stateliness and in the mournful beauty
of the eyes. It is strange what trifles crowd upon the
memory when one thinks of the long ago and the friends
that have departed. I recollect his smile when he said
that he always called to mind the number of the house in
Beacon Street, Boston, — which was Mrs. Longfellow's
home when she was Miss Appleton, — " by thinking of the
Thirty-nine Articles." I recollect the gentle gravity of his
voice when he showed me a piece of the coffin of Dante,
and said, in a low tone, " That has touched his bones." I
recollect the benignant look in his eyes and the warm
pressure of his hand when he bade me good-by (it was
the last time), saying, " You never forget me ; you always
ItEMINISCENCES. 315
come to see me." There were long lapses of time dur-
ing which I never saw him, heing held fast by incessant
duties, and driven far away by the gales of life from
the old moorings of my youth. But as often as I came
back to his door his love met me on the threshold and
his noble serenity gave me comfort and peace. It is but
a little while ago since, in quick and delicate remembrance
of the old days, he led me to his hearthstone, saying,
" Come and sit in the Children's Chair." What an awful
solemnity, and yet what a soothing sense of perfect noble-
ness and beneficent love, must hallow now that storied
home from which his earthly and visible presence has
forever departed!
Let us turn to his own words, and take comfort once
more from that loving heart which was always so ready
to give it: "Death is neither an end nor a beginning.
It is a transition, not from one existence to another, but
from one state of existence to another. No link is
broken in the chain of being, any more than in passing
from infancy to manhood, from manhood to old age. . . .
Death brings us again to our friends. They are waiting
for us, and we shall not long delay. They have gone
before us, and are like the angels in heaven. They stand
upon the borders of the grave to welcome us, with the
countenance of affection which they wore on earth, — yet
more lovely, more radiant, more spiritual."
The reminiscences that follow are from the
hand of an intimate friend of many years, Mrs.
J. T. Fields.!
There was always a striking contrast between the per-
fect modesty and simplicity of Longfellow and the blare of
^ Reprinted from The Century, April, 1886, by penuission of the
publishers.
316 KEMINISCENCES.
popularity which beset him. Though naturally of a buoy-
ant disposition and fond of pleasure, he lived as far as pos-
sible from the public eye, especially during the last twenty
years of his life. The following note gives a hint of his
natural gayety, and details one of the many excuses by
which he always declined to speak in public, — the one
memorable exception being that beautiful occasion at
Bowdoin when he returned in age to the scenes of his
youth and read to the crowd assembled there to do him
reverence his poem entitled ' Morituri Salutamus.' After
speaking of the reasons which must keep him from the
Burns festival [in 1859], he adds : —
" I am very sorry not to be there. You will have a delightful
supper, or dianer, whichever it is ; and human breath enough ex-
pended to fill all the trumpets of Iskander for a month or more.
I behold as in a vision a friend of ours, with his left hand under
the tails of his coat, blowing away like mad ; and, alas ! I shall not
be there to applaud. All this you must do for me ; and also eat my
part of the haggis which I hear is to grace the feast. This shall be
your duty and your reward."
The reference in this note to the " trumpets of Iskander "
is the only one in his letters regarding a poem which was
a great favorite of his, by Leigh Hunt, called ' The Trum-
pets of Doolkarnein.' It is a poem worthy to make the
reputation of a poet, and is almost a surprise even among
the varied riches of Leigh Hunt. Many years after this
note was written, Longfellow used to recall it to those lov-
ers of poetry who had chanced to escape a knowledge of
its beauty.
In spite of his dislike of grand occasions, he was a keen
lover of the opera and theatre. He was always the first to
know when the opera season was to begin, and to plan that
we might have a box together. He was always ready to
hear Lucia or Bon Giovanni, and to make a festival time
at the coming of Salvini or Neilson. There is a tiny note-
EEMINISCENCES. 317
let among his letters, with a newspaper paragraph neatly
cut out and pasted across the top, detailing the names
of his party at a previous appearance at a theatre, — a kind
of notoriety which he particularly shuddered at ; but in
order to prove his determination, in spite of everything, he
writes below : —
" Now for ' Pinafore,' and another paragrapli ! Saturday after-
noon would be a good time."
He easily caught the gayety of such occasions, and in
the shadow of the box-curtains would join in the singing
or the recitative of the lovely Italian words with a true
poet's delight. . . .
Day by day he was besieged by every possible form of
interruption which the ingenuity of the human brain could
devise; but his patience and kindness, his determination to
accept the homage offered him in the spirit of the giver,
whatever discomfort it might bring himself, was continu-
ally surprising to those who watched him year by year.
Mr. Fields wrote : " In his modesty and benevolence I am
reminded of what Pope said of his friend Garth : ' He is
the best of Christians, without knowing it.' "...
He was distinguished by one grace which was almost
peculiar to himself in the time in which he lived — his
tenderness toward the undeveloped artist, the man or wo-
man, youth or maid, whose heart was set upon some form
of ideal expression, and who was living for that. Whether
they possessed the power to distinguish themselves or not,
to such persons he addressed himself with a sense of per-
sonal regard and kinship. When fame crowned the aspir-
ant, no one recognized more keenly the perfection of the
work ; but he seldom turned aside to attract the successful
to himself. To the unsuccessful he lent the sunshine and
overflow of his own life, as if he tried to show every day
afresh that he believed noble pursuit, and not attainment,
to be the purpose of our existence. . . .
318 EEMINISCENCES.
His kindness and love of humor carried him throng]
many a tedious interruption. He generously overlookec
the fact of the subterfuges to which men and women re
sorted in order to get an interview, and to help them oui
made as much of their excuses as possible. Speaking ont
day of the people who came to see him at Nahant, h(
said : " One man, a perfect stranger, came with an omnibus
full of ladies. He descended, introduced himself, then re
turning to the omnibus took out all the ladies, one, two
three, four, and five, with a little girl, and brought them
in. I entertained them to the best of my ability, and
they stayed an hour. They had scarcely gone when a for-
lorn woman in black came up to me on the piazza and
asked for a ' dipper of water.' ' Certainly,' I replied, and
went to fetch her a glass. When I brought it she said,
' There is another woman just by the fence who is tired
and thirsty ; I will carry this to her.' But she struck hei
head as she passed through the window and spilled the
water on the piazza. ' Oh ! what have I done ? ' she said.
' If I had a floor-cloth, I would wipe it up.' ' Oh ! no mat-
ter about the water,' I said, ' if you have not hurt your-
self.' Then I went and brought more water for them both
and sent them on their way, at last, refreshed and rejoic-
ing." Once Longfellow drew out of his pocket a queer
request for an autograph, saying, " that the writer loved
poetry in 'most any style, and would he please copy his
' Break, break, break ! ' for the writer ? " He also described
in a note a little encounter in the street, on a wiudy day,
with an elderly French gentleman in company with a
young lady, who introduced them to each other. The
Frenchman said : —
" ' Monsieur, vous avez un fils qui fait de la peinture.'
' Oui, Monsieur.'
' II a du nitrite. 11 a beaucoup d'avenir.'
' Ah ! ' said I, ' c'est une belle chose que I'avenir.'
REMINISCENCES. 319
The elderly French gentleman rolled up the whites of his eyes
and answered, —
' Oui, c'est une belle chose ; mais vous et moi, nous n'en avons pas
beaucoup ! '
Superfluous information ! "
It would be both an endless and unprofitable task to
recall many more of the curious experiences which Long-
fellow's popularity brought down upon him. There is a
passage among Mr. Fields's notes, however, in which he
describes an incident during Longfellow's last visit to
England which should not be overlooked. Upon his
arrival the Queen sent a graceful message and invited
him to Windsor Castle, where she received him with all
cordiality ; but he told me no foreign tribute touched
him deeper than the words of an English hod-carrier,
who came up to the carriage-door at Harrow and asked
permission to take the hand of the man who had written
the Voices of the Night.
There are many letters belonging to the phase of Long-
fellow's life dwelt upon in this sketch, but they belong
more properly to his biography. There is a brief note,
however, written in 1849, which gives a pleasant idea of
the close relation already existing between him and his
pubUsher. He writes : —
" Mt dear Fields, — I am extremely glad you like the new poems
so well. What think you of the inclosed, instead of the sad ending of
' The Ship "t Is it better ? * ... I send you also ' The Lighthouse '
once more ; I think it is improved by your suggestions. See if you
can find anything more to re-touch. And finally, here is a letter from
Hirst. You see what he wants ; but I do not like the idea of giving
my ' Dedication ' to the ' Courier.' Therefore I hereby give it to you,
so that I can say it is disposed of.
Am I right, or wrong ! "
* The original ending of ' The Building of the Ship ' will be found
on page 437.
320 REMINISCENCES.
There was no break nor any change in this friendship
during the passing of the years ; but in 1861 there is a
note containing only a few words, which shows that a
change had fallen upon Longfellow himself, — a shadow
which never could be lifted from his life. He writes :
" Mt dear Fields, — I am sorry to say No instead of Yes ; but
80 it must be. I can neither write nor think ; and I have nothing fit
to send you but my love, which you cannot put into the magazine."
For ever after the death of his wife he was a different
man. His friends suffered for him and with him, but he
walked alone through the valley of the shadow of death.
They were glad when he turned to his work again, and
still more glad when he showed a desire for their interest
in what he was doing.
It was not long before he began to busy himself con-
tinuously with his translation of the Divina Gommedia,
and in the journal of 1863 I find : —
" August. A delightful day with Longfellow at N"ahant.
He read aloud the last part of his new volume of poems,
in which each one of a party of friends tells a story. Ole
Bull, Parsons, Monti, and several other characters are
introduced."
" September 1. A cold storm by the sea-shore ; but there
was great pleasure in town in the afternoon. Longfellow,
Paine, Dwight, and Fields went to hear Walcker play the
great new organ in the Music Hall for the first time since
its erection. Afterward they all dined together. Long-
fellow comes in from Cambridge every day, and sometimes
twice a day, to see George Sumner, who is dying at the
Massachusetts General Hospital."
"September 19. Longfellow and his friend George
W. Greene, Charles Sumner, and Dempster, the singer,
came in for an early dinner. A very cosey, pleasant
little party. The afternoon was cool, and everybody was
REMINISCENCES. 321
in kindly humor. Sumner shook his head sadly when
the subject of the English ironclads was mentioned. The
talk prolonged itself upon the condition of the country.
Longfellow's patriotism flamed. His feeling against Eng-
land runs more deeply and strongly than he can find words
to express. There is no prejudice nor childish partisan-
ship, but it is hatred of the course she has pursued at this
critical time. Later, in speaking of poetry and some of
the less-known and younger poets, Longfellow recalled
some good passages in the poems of Bessie Parkes and
Jean Ingelow. As evening approached we left the table
and came to the library. There in the twilight Dempster
sat at the piano and sang to us, beginning with Longfel-
low's poem called ' Children,' which he gave with a deli-
cacy and feeling that touched every one. Afterward he
sang the ' Bugle Song ' and ' Turn, Fortune,' which he had,
shortly before leaving England, sung to Tennyson ; and
then, after a pause, he turned once more to the instrument
and sang ' Break, break, break ! ' It was very solemn, and
no one spoke when he had finished, only a deep sob was
heard from the corner where Longfellow sat. Again and
again, each time more uncontrolled, we heard the heart-
rending sounds. Presently the singer gave us another and
less touching song, and before he ceased, Longfellow rose
and vanished from the room in the dim, light without a
word."
" September 27. Longfellow and Greene came tO' town
in the evening for a walk and to. see' the moonlight
in the streets, and afterward to have supper. . . . He
was very sad, and seemed to have grown an old man: since
a week ago. He was silent and absentrminded. On his
previous visit he had borrowed Sidney's 'Arcadia' and
Christina Eossetti's poems, but he had read) neither of the
books. He was overwhelmed with his grief, as if it were
sometimes more than he could endure."
21
322 REMINISCENCES.
" Sunday, October. Took five little children to drive in
the afternoon, and stopped at Longfellow's. It was de-
lightful to see their enjoyment and his. He took them
out of the carriage in his arms and was touchingly kind to
them. His love for children is not confined to his poetic
expressions or to his own family ; he is uncommonly ten-
der and beautiful with them always."
I remember there was one little boy of whom he was
very fond, and who came often to see him. One day the
child looked earnestly at the long rows of books in the
library, and at length said, —
" Have you got Jack the Giant-Killer ? "
Longfellow was obliged to confess that his library did
not contain that venerated volume. The little boy looked
very sorry, and presently slipped down from his knee and
went away ; but early the next morning Longfellow saw
him coming up the walk with something tightly clasped
in his little fists. The child had brought him two cents,
with which he was to buy a Jack the Giant-Killer to be
his own.
He did not escape the sad experiences of the War. His
eldest son was severely wounded, and he also went, as did
Dr. Holmes and other less famous but equally anxious
parents, in search of his boy. . . .
In the year 1865 began those Wednesday evenings de-
voted to ;readiijg;the new translation of Dante. They were
delightful occasions. Lowell, Norton, Greene, Howells,
and such other Dante scholars or intimate friends as were
accessible, made up the circle of kindly critics. Those
evenings increased in interest as the work went on ; and
when it was ended, and the notes were written and read, it
was proposed to re-read the whole rather than to give up
the weekly visit to Longfellow's house. In 1866 he wrote
to Mr. Fields : —
REMINISCENCES. 323
" Greene is coming expressly to hear the last canto of Paradise
to-morrow night, and will stay the rest of the week. I really hoped
you would be here ; but as you say nothing about it, I begin to trem-
ble. Perhaps, however, you are only making believe, and will take
us by surprise ; so I shall keep your place for you.
This is not to be the end of all things. I mean to begin again
in September with the dubious and difficult passages ; and if you
are not in too much of a hurry to publish, there is still a long vista
of pleasant evenings stretching out before us. We can pull them
out like a spy-glass. I am shutting up now, to recommence the
operation."
In December of the same year he wrote : —
" The first meeting of the Dante Club Redivivus is on Wednesday
next. Come and be bored. Please not to mention the subject to any
one yet awhile, as we are going to be very quiet about it."
"January, 1867. Dante Club at Longfellow's again.
They are revising the whole book with the minutest care.
Lowell's accuracy is surprising, and of great value to the
work ; also Norton's criticisms. Longfellow sits at his
desk, taking notes and making corrections, — though of
course no one can know yet what he accepts." . . .
He was seldom stimulated to external expression by
others. Such excitement as he could express again was
always self-excitement; anything external rendered him
at once a listener and an observer. For this reason it is
peculiarly difficult to give any idea of his lovely presence
and character to those who have not known him. He did
not speak in epigrams. It could not be said of him :
" His mouth he could not ope.
But out there flew a trope."
Yet there was an exquisite tenderness and effluence from
his presence which was more humanizing and elevating
than the eloquence of many others.
Speaking one day of his own reminiscences, Longfellow
said, " that however interesting such things were in con-
324 REMINISCENCES.
versation, he thought they seldom contained legitimate
matter for hookmaking ; and 's life of a poet, just
then printed, was, he thought, peculiarly disagreeable,
chiefly because of the unjustifiable things related of him
by others. This strain of thought brought to his mind a
call he made [in 1842], with a letter of introduction, upon
Jules Janin. The servant said her master was at home,
and he was ushered immediately into a small parlor, in
one corner of which was a winding stairway leading into
the room above. Here he waited a moment while the
maid carried in his card, and then returned immediately
to say he could go up. In the upper room sat Janin under
the hands of a barber, his abundant locks shaken up in
wild confusion, in spite of which he received his guest quite
undisturbed, as if it were a matter of course. There was
no fire in the room, but the fire-place was heaped with let-
ters and envelopes, and a trail of the same reached from
his desk to the grate. After a brief visit Longfellow was
about to withdraw, when Janin detained him, saying :
' What can I do for you in Paris ? Whom would you
like to see ? '
' I should like to know Madame George Sand.'
' Unfortunately that is impossible ! I have just quar-
relled with Madame Sand ! '
'Ah! then, Alexandre Dumas; I should like to take
him by the hand ! '
' I have quarrelled with him also; but no matter ! Vous
perdriez vos illusions.'
" However, he invited me to dine the next day, and I
had a singular experience ; but I shall not soon forget the
way in which he said, ' Vous perdriez vos illusions.'
" When I arrived on the following day I found the com-
pany consisted of his wife and himself, a little red-haired
man who was rather quiet and cynical, and myself. Janin
was amusing and noisy, and carried the talk on swim-
REMINISCENCES. 325
mingly, with much laughter. Presently he began to say
hard things about vromen ; when his wife looked up re-
proachfully, and said, ' D^ja, Jules ! ' During dinner a dra-
matic author arrived with his play, and Janin ordered him
to be shown in. He treated the poor fellow brutally, who
in turn bowed low to the great power. He did not even ask
him to take a chair. Madame Janin did so, however, and
kindly too. The author supplicated the critic to attend
the first appearance of his play. Janin would not promise
to go, but put him off indefinitely ; and presently the poor
man went away. I tingled all over with indignation at
the treatment the man received ; but Janin looked over
to his wife, saying, ' Well, my dear, I treated this one
pretty well, did n't IV
' Better than sometimes, Jules,' she answered."
Altogether it was a strange scene to the American
observer.
"July, 1867. Passed the day at Nahant. As Long-
fellow sat on the piazza, wrapped in his blue cloth cloak,
he struck me for the first time as wearing a venerable
aspect. Before dinner he gathered wild roses to adorn the
table, and even gave a careful touch himself to the ar-
rangement of the wines and fruits. He was in excellent
spirits, fuU of wit and lively talk. Speaking of the use
and misuse of words, he quoted Chateaubriand's mistake
(afterward corrected) in his translation of 'Paradise Lost,'
where he rendered
' Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God,'
as
' Le ruisseau de Siloa qui coulait rapidement.' "
In talking about natural differences in character and
temperament, he said of his own children that he agreed
with one of the old English divines who said, " Happy is
that household wherein Martha still reproves Mary ! "
326 KEMINISCENCES.
In February, 1868, it was decided that Longfellow-
should go to Europe with his family. He said that the
first time he went abroad it was to see places alone, and
not persons ; the second time he saw a few persons, and so
pleasantly combined the two ; he thought once that on a
third visit he should prefer to see people only. But all
that was changed now. He had returned to the feeling
of his youth. He was eager to seek out quiet places and
wayside nooks where he might rest in retirement and en-
joy the beautiful country sights of Europe undisturbed.
The following year found him again in Cambridge, re-
freshed by his absence. The diary continues : " He has
been trying to further the idea of buying some of the low
lands in Cambridge for the College. If this can be done,
it will save much future annoyance to the people from
wretched hovels and bad odors, besides holding the land for
a beautiful possession forever. He has given a good deal
of money himself. This might be called ' his latest work.' "
" January, 1870. Longfellow and Bayard Taylor came
to dine. Longfellow talked of translators and translating.
He advanced the idea that the English, from the insularity
of their character, were incapable of making a perfect
translation. Americans, French, and Germans, he said,
have much larger adaptability to and sympathy in the
thought of others. He would not hear Chapman's Homer
or anything else quoted on the other side, but was zealous
in enforcing this argument. He anticipates much from
Taylor's version of Faust. All this was strikingly inter-
esting, as showing how his imagination wrought with
him, because he was arguing from his own theory of the
capacity of the races, and in the face of his knowledge of
the best actual translations existing to-day, the result of
the scholarship of England. . . .
" His account of Sainte-Beuve during his last visit to
Europe was an odd little drama. He had grown exces-
REMINISCENCES. 327
sively fat, and could scarcely move. He did not attempt
to rise from his chair as Longfellow entered, but motioned
him to a seat by his side. Talking of Chateaubriand and
Lamartine, ' Take them for all in all, which do you pre-
fer ? ' asked Longfellow.
'"Charlatan pour charlatan, je crois que je pr^f^re
Monsieur de Lamartine,' was the reply.
" Longfellow amused me by making two epigrams :
' What is autobiography ?
It is what a biography ought to be.'
And again : —
' When you ask one friend to dine,
Give him your best wine !
When you ask two.
The second best will do ! '
"He brought in with him two poems translated from
Platen's Night-Songs. They are very beautiful." . . .
When Longfellow talked freely, as at this dinner, it was
difficult to remember that he was not really a talker.
The natural reserve of his nature made it sometimes im-
possible for him to express himself in ordinary inter-
course. He never truly made a confidant of anybody
except his Muse. . . .
His sympathetic nature was ever ready to share and
further the gayety of others. He wrote one evening :
" I have been kept at home by a little dancing-party to-night. . . .
I write this arrayed in my dress-coat, with a rose in my button-hole,
— a circumstance, I think, worth mentioning. It reminds me of
Buflfon, who used to array himself in his full dress for vmting Nat-
ural History. Why should we not always do it when we write
letters ? We should, no doubt, be more courtly and polite, and per-
haps say handsome things to each other. It was said of Villemain
that when he spoke to a lady he seemed to be presenting her a
bouquet. Allow me to present you this postscript in the same polite
manner, to make good my theory of the rose in the button-hole."
328 EEMINISCENCBS.
How delightful it is to catcli the exhilaration of the
little festival in this way ! In his endeavor to further the
gayeties of his children he had received again a reflected
light and life which his love for them had helped to
create.
"December 14, 1870. Taylor's Faust is finished, and
Longfellow is coming with other friends to dinner to cele-
brate the ending of the work. . . .
" A statuette of Goethe was on the table. Longfellow
said Goethe never liked the statue of himself by Eauch,
from which this copy was made. He preferred above all
others a bust of himself by a Swiss sculptor, a copy of
which Taylor owns. He could never understand, he con-
tinued, the story of that unpleasant interview between
Napoleon and Goethe. Eckermann says Goethe liked it ;
but Longfellow thought the Emperor's manner of address
had a touch of insolence in it. The haunts of Goethe in
Weimar were pleasantly recalled by both Longfellow and
Taylor, to whom they were familiar; also that strange
portrait of him, taken standing at a window, and looking
out over Eome, in which nothing but his back can be
seen.
"1 find it impossible to recall what Longfellow said,
but he scintillated all the evening. It was an occasion
such as he loved best. His jeux d'esprit flew rapidly right
and left, often setting the table in a roar of laughter, — a
most unusual thing with him." . . .
"January, 1871. Dined- at Longfellow's, and after-
ward went upstairs to see an interesting collection of
East Indian curiosities. Passing through his dressing-
room, I was struck with the likeness of his private rooms
to those of a German student or professor, — a Goethean
aspect of simplicity and space everywhere, with books put
up in the nooks and corners and all over the walls. It is
surely a most attractive house ! "
EEMINISCENCES. 329
Again I find a record of a dinner at Cambridge : " The
day was spring-like, and the air full of the odors of fresh
blossoms. As we came down over the picturesque old
staircase, he was standing with a group of gentlemen near
by, and I heard him say aloud unconsciously, in a way
peculiar to himself, ' Ah, now we shall see the ladies come
downstairs ! ' Nothing escapes his keen observation — as
delicate as it is keen."
And in the same vein the journal rambles on
"Friday. Longfellow came in to luncheon at one
o'clock. He was looking very well; ... his beautiful
eyes fairly shone. He had been at Manchester-by-the-Sea
the day before to dine with the Curtises. Their truly
romantic and lovely place had left a pleasant picture in
his mind. Coming away by the train, he passed in Chel-
sea a new soldiers' monument, which suggested an epigram
to him that he said, laughingly, would suit any of the
thousand of such monuments to be seen about the coun-
try. He began somewhat in this style : —
' The soldier asked for bread ;
But they waited till he was dead,
And gave him a stoae instead.
Sixty and one feet high ! '
"We all returned to Cambridge together, and being
early for our own appointment elsewhere, he carried us
into his library and read aloud 'The Marriage of Lady
Wentworth.' E., with pretty girlish ways, and eyes like
his own, had let us into the old mansion by the side-door,
and then lingered to ask if she might be allowed to stay
and hear the reading too. He, consenting, laughingly
lighted a cigar and soon began. His voice in reading was
sweet and melodious, and it was touched with tremulous-
ness ; although this was an easier poem to read aloud than
many others, being strictly narrative. It is full of New
England life, and a beautiful addition to his works. He
330 REMINISCENCES.
has a fancy for making a volume, or getting some one else
to do it, of his favorite ghost-stories, — the Flying Dutch-
man, Peter Eugg, and a few others."
On another occasion the record says : —
" Passed the evening at Longfellow's. As we lifted the
latch and entered the hall-door, we saw him reading an
old book by his study-lamp. It was the Chansons d 'Us-
pagne, which he had just purchased at what he called the
' massacre of the poets ; ' in other words, at the sale that
day of the library of William H. Prescott. He was rather
melancholy, he said, — first, on account of the sacrifice and
separation of that fine library ; also because he is doubtful
about his new poem, the one on the life of our Saviour.
He says he has never before felt so cast-down.
"What an orderly man he is !: — 'well-ordered/ I should
have written. Diary, accounts, scraps, books, — every-
thing where he can put his hand upon it in a moment."
" December, 1871. Saturday Mr. Longfellow came in
town and went with us to hear twelve hundred school
children sing a welcome to the Eussian Grand Duke in
the Music Hall. It was a fine sight, and Dr. Holmes's
hymn, written for the occasion, was noble and inspiring.
Just before the Grand Duke came in I saw a smile creep
over Longfellow's face. ' I can never get over the ludi-
crousness of it,' he said. 'AH this array and fuss over
one man ! ' He came home with us afterward, and lin-
gered awhile by the fire. He talked of Eussian literature,
— its modernness, — and said he had sent us a delightful
novel by Tourgdnief, Liza, in which we should find
charming and vivid glimpses of landscape and life Kke
those seen from a carriage-window. We left him alone
in the library for a while, and returning, found him amus-
ing himself over the Ingoldsby Legends. He was reading
the 'Coronation of Victoria,' and laughing over Count
Proganoff, who 'could not get prog enough,' and was
REMINISCENCES. 331
found eating underneath the stairs. He wants to have
a dinner for Bayard Taylor, whose coming is always the
signal for a series of small festivities. His own Divine
Tragedy is just out, and everybody speaks of its simplicity
and beauty."
"April. In the evening Longfellow came into town
for the purpose of hearing a German gentleman read an
original poem, and he persuaded me to go with him. The
reader twisted his face up into frightful knots, and de-
livered his poem with vast apparent satisfaction to him-
self, if not to his audience. It was fortunate, on the whole,
that the production was in a foreign tongue, because it
gave us the occupation at least of trying to understand
the words, — the poem itself possessing not the remotest
interest for either of us. It was in the old sentimental
German style familiar to the readers of that literature.
Longfellow amused me as we walked home by imitating
the sing-song voice we had been following all the evening.
He also recited in the original that beautiful little poem
by Platen, In der Nacht, in der Nacht, in a most delightful
manner. ' Ah ! ' he said, ' to translate a poem properly it
must be done into the metre of the original ; and Bryant's
Homer, fine as it is, has this fault, — that it does not give
the music of the poem itself.' He came in and took a
cigar before walking home over the bridge alone. . . .
"Emerson asked Longfellow at dinner about his last
visit to England, of Euskin and other celebrities. Long-
fellow is always reticent upon such subjects ; but he was
eager to tell us how very much he had enjoyed Mr. Eus-
kin. He said it was one of the most surprising things in
the world to see the quiet, gentlemanly way in which
Euskin gave vent to his extreme opinions. It seems to
be no effort to him, but as if it were a matter of course
that every one should give expression to the faith that is
in him in the same unvarnished way as he does himself,
332 REMINISCENCES.
not looking for agreement, but for conversation and dis-
cussion. ' It is strange,' Euskin said, ' being considered so
much out of harmony with America as I am, that the two
Americans I have known and loved best, you and Nor-
ton, should give me such a feeHng of friendship and
repose.'"^ . . .
"Longfellow came in to an early dinner to meet Mr.
Joseph Jefferson, Mr. William Warren, and Dr. Holmes.
He said he felt like one on a journey. He had left home
early in the morning, had been sight-seeing in Boston all
day, was to dine and go to the theatre with us afterward.
The talk naturally turned upon the stage. LongfgUow
said he thought Mr. Charles Mathews was entirely unjust
in his criticisms upon Mr. Forrest's King Lear. He con-
sidered Mr. Forrest's rendering of the part as very fine,
and close to nature. He could not understand why Mr.
Mathews should underrate it as he did. Longfellow
showed us a book given him by Charles Sumner. In it
was an old engraving (from a painting by Giulio Clovio)
of the moon, in which Dante is walking with his com-
panion. He said it was a most impressive picture to him.
He knew it in the original ; also there is a very good copy
in the Cambridge Library among the copies of illuminated
manuscripts."
There is a little note, belonging to this period, full of
poetic feeling, and giving more than a hint at the weari-
fulness of interrupting visitors: —
" I send you the pleasant volume I promised you yesterday. It
is a book for summer moods by the seaside, but will not be out of
place on a winter night by the fireside. . . . You will find an allu-
1 Mr. Ruskin had written to Mr. Longfellow : " I had many things
to say about the sense I have of the good you might do this old
world by staying with us a little, and giving the peaceful glow of your
fancy to our cold, troubled, unpeaceful spirit. Strange, that both you
and Norton come as such cakn influences to me and others."
REMINISCENCES. 333
sion to the ' blue borage flowers' that flavor the claret-cup. I know
where grows another kind of bore-age that embitters the goblet of
life. I can spare you some of this herb, if you have room for it in
your garden or your garret. It is warranted to destroy all peace of
mind, and finally to produce softening of the brain and insanity.
' Better juice of vine
Than berry wine !
Fire ! fire ! steel, oh, steel !
Fire ! fire ! steel and fire ! ' "
The following, written in the spring of the same year,
gives a hint of what a festival season it was to him while
the lilacs which surround his house were in bloom : —
"Here is the poem, copied for you by your humble scribe. I
found it impossible to crowd it into a page of note-paper. Come any
pleasant morning, as soon after breakfast, or before, as you like, and
we will go on with the ' Michael Angelical' manuscript. I shall not
be likely to go to town while the lilacs are in bloom."
The rambling diary continues : " To-day Longfellow sent
us half a dozen bottles of wine, and after them came a
note saying he had sent them off without finding time to
label them. ' They are wine of Avignon,' he added, ' and
should bear this inscription, from Redi : —
' Benedetto
Quel Claretto
Che si spUla in Avignone.' "
About this period Longfellow invited an old friend, who
had fallen into extreme helplessness from ill health, to
come and make him a visit. It was a great comfort to his
friend, a scholar like himself, "to nurse the dwindling
faculty of joy" in such companionship, and he lingered
many weeks in the sunshine of the old house. Long-
fellow's patience and devoted care for this friend of his
youth was a signal example of what a true and constant
heart may do unconsciously, in giving expression and
recognition to the bond of a sincere friendship. Long
after his friend was unable to rise from his chair without
334 REMINISCENCES.
assistance, or go unaccompanied to his bedroom, Long-
fellow followed the lightest unexpressed wish with his
sympathetic vision, and performed the smallest offices for
him. " Longfellow, will you turn down my coat-collar ? "
I have heard him say in a plaintive way; and it was a
beautiful lesson to see the quick and cheerful response
which would follow many a like suggestion.
In referring to this trait of his character, I find among
the notes made by Mr. Fields on Longfellow : " One of
the most occupied of all our literary men and scholars, he
yet finds time for the small courtesies of existence, — those
minor attentions that are so often neglected. One day,
seeing him employed in cutting something from a news-
paper, I asked him what he was about. 'Oh,' said he,
' here is a little paragraph speaking kindly of our poor old
friend Blank. You know he seldom gets a word of praise,
poor fellow, nowadays ; and thinking he might not chance
to see this paper, I am snipping out the paragraph to mail
to him this afternoon. I know that even these few lines
of recognition will make him happy for hours, and I could
not bear to think he might perhaps miss seeing these
pleasant words so kindly expressed.'"
"May Bay, 1876. Longfellow dined with us. He said
during the dinner, when we heard a blast of wintry wind
howling outside, ' This is May Day enough ; it does not
matter to us how cold it is outside.' He was inclined to
be silent, for there were other and brilliant talkers at the
table, one of whom said to him in a pause of the conver-
sation, 'Longfellow, tell us about yourself; you never talk
about yourself.' ' No,' said Longfellow gently, ' I believe
I never do.' 'And yet,' continued the first speaker
eagerly, ' you confessed to me once ' ' No,' said Long-
fellow, laughing, ' I think I never did.' "
And here is a tiny note of compliment, graceful as a
poet's note should be: —
KEMINISCENCES. 335
" I have just received your charming gift, — your note and the
stately lilies ; but fear you may have gone from home before my
thanks can reach you.
How beautiful they are, these lilies of the field ; and how like
American women ! Not because ' they neither toil nor spin/ but
because they are elegant and 'born in the purple.'"
There is a brief record in 1879 of a visit to us in Man-
chester-by-the-Sea. Just before he left he said, "After
I am gone to-day, I want you to read Schiller's poem of
the ' Eing of Polycrates,' if you do not recall it too dis-
tinctly. You will know then how I feel about my visit."
He repeated also some English hexameters he had essayed
from the first book of the Iliad. He believes the work
may be still more perfectly done than has ever yet been
achieved. We drove to Gloucester wrapped in a warm
sea-fog. His enjoyment of the green woods and the sea-
breeze was delightful to watch. " Ay me ! ay me ! woods
may decay," but who can dare believe such life shall cease
from the fair world !
Seeing the Portland steamer pass one night, a speck on
the horizon, bearing, as he knew, his daughter and her
husband, he watched it long ; then said : " Think of a part
of yourself being on that moving speck ! " . . .
Already in 1875 we find Longfellow at work upon his
latest collection of poems, which he called Poems of
Places. It was a much more laborious and unreward-
ing occupation than he had intended, and he was some-
times weary of his self-imposed task. He wrote at this
period : —
No politician ever sought for Places with half the zeal that I do.
Friend and foe alike have to give Place to,
Tours truly,
H. W. L.
336 REMINISCENCES.
Again he says : —
" What evil demon moved me to make this collection of Poems of
Places ? Could I have foreseen the time it would take, and the worry
and annoyance it would bring with it, I never would have undertaken
it. The worst of it is, I have to write pieces now and then to fill up
More and more his old friends grew dear to him as the
years passed and " the goddess Neuralgia," as he called his
malady, kept him chiefly at home. . . .
And here the extracts from letters and journals must
cease. It was a golden sunset, in spite of the increasing
infirmities which beset him ; for he could never lose his
pleasure in making others happy, and only during the few
last days did he lose his own happiness among his books
and at his desk. The influence his presence gave out to
others, of calm good cheer and tenderness, made those who
knew him feel that he possessed, in larger measure than
others, what Jean Paul Eichter calls " a heavenly un-
fathomableness which makes man godlike, and love toward
him infinite." Indeed this " heavenly unfathomableness "
was a strong characteristic of his nature, and the gracious
silence in which he often dwelt gave a rare sense of song
without words. Therefore, perhaps on that day when we
gathered around the form through which his voice was
never again to utter itself, and heard his own words upon
the air, saying : " Weep not, my friends ! rather rejoice with
me ; I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, and you
will have another friend in heaven," — it was impossible not
to believe that he was with us still, the central spirit, com-
forting and uplifting the circle of those who were most
dear to him.
CHAPTER XVII.
OTHER REMINISCENCES.
In the Life is given an account of the Dante Club
by Mr. C. E. Norton. The following sketch of a
single evening, in the winter of 1867, will interest
the reader : ^ —
The final revision of the proof-sheets was then going
on, and the Wednesday evenings were devoted to the last
" cabinet councils " on them before they were dismissed for
publication. To my delight, the next day brought me a
pleasant invitation from Longfellow to accompany Pro-
fessor Lowell to the Dante gathering that evening, and to
attend these meetings as long as I remained at Cambridge.
It was of course accepted ; and in the evening we walked
through the snow to the well-known Longfellow home,
and were met at the door by the poet himself, who had
from the window seen us approaching. It is hardly neces-
sary to repeat the description of Longfellow's appearance,
and his kindly courtesy of manner, which has become
famiUar to every one. He was then approaching his six-
tieth birthday ; but his white hair and beard gave him a
patriarchal appearance more in keeping with twenty years'
greater age. That was, however, the only sign of ad-
vanced years. His complexion was fresh, his eyes softly
1 This sketch, by Mr. J. H. A. Bone, of Cleveland, Ohio, is copied
from the Life by Mr. Austin.
22
338 OTHER KEMINISCENCES.
bright, and his manner so courteous and winning that the
question of real of apparent age was at once forgotten.
The visitor felt himself at ease immediately, as if he had
always belonged to the inner circle of the poet's friends ;
and the secret of the strong affection felt toward Long-
fellow by his literary neighbors — and some might think
rivals — was explained.
After a few minutes' pleasant conversation in the poet's
well-appointed study, James T. Fields, the poet's pub-
lisher, who was also a poet-publisher, walked briskly
up the snowy path from the old-fashioned gateway, and
was warmly greeted. William D. Howells, then assist-
ant-editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and a great favorite
with both the older Cambridge poets, quickly followed.
There was a lively conversation for a short time, a remark
concerning the unusual absence of Charles Eliot Norton, —
" snowed ia," some one suggested, — and then Longfellow,
glancing at the clock, said, " School-time ! " To each of the
visitors was handed a copy of Dante in the original, with
which to follow the translation as read from the printed
sheets. I pleaded my insufficient acquaintance with the
Italian ; but the " schoolmaster " would not let me off thus.
" All scholars must work," said Longfellow ; and he handed
me a volume containing a prose literal translation, with
the injunction that any marked difference in the render-
ing of a word or construing the sense of a passage must
be noted, if a doubt as to its propriety arose. Then all
settled down to close study.
As a preliminary, Longfellow took from a drawer the
sheets which had been passed upon at the previous meet-
ing, and on which he had noted the suggestions, objections,
and doubts of the " scholars " made at that time. These
had all been carefully considered, some amendments ac-
cepted, others rejected, and the doubtful passages thor-
oughly examined. Where the translator still preferred his
OTHEE EEMINISCENCES. 339
own rendering to that suggested by his critics, he gave
his reasons. This done, the sheets were replaced, the new
set taken up, and the poet began reading the lines slowly,
and at the same time watchful of any indication of dissent
or doubt on the part of his hearers.
The reading commenced with Canto XIII. of the In-
ferno, where Dante and his guide enter the marvellous
wood : —
" Not foliage green, but of a dusky color,
Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled,
Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison."
The reading continued vrithout interruption until the
thirtieth line was reached : —
" Therefore the Master said, ' If thou break off
Some little spray from any of those trees.
The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.' "
Longfellow appeared to be not quite satisfied with his
rendering, and invited suggestions of improvement; but
these were hesitatingly given. All the suggested emenda-
tions were noted for after-consideration, and the reading
continued. Sometimes one of the listeners checked the
reader to interpose a question or a doubt ; at other times
the poet himself stopped to explain the reason for his
selection of a word. In either case discussion generally
followed, authorities were examined and cited ; and after
all the information obtainable had been brought out and
the net result noted on the margin of the proof, the read-
ing was resumed.
One stop was at the incident of the shades of the
unfortunate Lano of Siena and Jacopo of Sant' Andrea
rushing through the ghastly wood, chased by " black she-
mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot as greyhounds who
are issuing from the chain;" the ghosts —
340 OTHER EEMINISCBNCES.
" Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously
Tliat of the forest every fan they broke.
He who was in the advance, 'Now help, Death, help ! '
»
A question was raised as to the exact meaning in that
connection of accorri. Dante says the foremost of the
fleeing shapes cried, " Ora accorri, accorri, m-orte. " Gary,
with some other translators, renders the word in its sense
of haste : —
" ' Haste now,' lie foremost cried, ' now haste thee. Death ! ' "
After some discussion Longfellow's choice of meaning
was approved, and the line retained without change. The
fourteenth canto was read with fewer interruptions. One
of these was at the passage describing the rain of fire
upon the naked spirits stretched or crouched upon the
burning sand : —
" Thus was descending the eternal heat.
Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder
Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole.''
One of the listeners looked up quickly, as if to offer a
remark ; but immediately returned to the open book.
Longfellow noticed the movement, and interpreted its
meaning. " I prefer ' dole ' to ' suffering,' ' sorrow,' or 'sad-
ness,'" he said, "because it is more poetic in this place,
as well as better expressing the exact shade of meaning.
A poet's license might well be pleaded for such a word,"
he added with a smile, " although our friends the diction-
ary-makers mark it as obsolete. "
" Tennyson uses the word," I ventured to remark.
" Tennyson restores to literature many words that are
under the ban of the dictionary-makers as obsolete," said
Fields ; " and the use to which he puts them justifies the
act." . . .
OTHER REMINISCENCES. 341
" ' Dole,' in the sense of pain, mental suffering, sadness,
ir sorrow," remarked Lowell, " was a frequently used and
ixpressive word in the hands of Chaucer and Spenser and
heir contemporaries, and did not disappear until after
Jhakespeare's time. The dramatist Ford used ' dolent,'
n the sense of sad and sorrowful, in his play of Perkin
SVarbeck, where the ' passionate duke,' after a mishap, is
spoken of as ' effeminately dolent.' "
At the end of the fourteenth canto Longfellow dropped
;he last sheet into an open drawer, and rising, with a
light laugh said, "Now, gentlemen, school is over, and
we will have some refreshment after our labors." The
books were closed, and the " scholars " adjourned to the
3ining-room, where a supper, charmingly served, was in
waiting. One or two other guests joined the circle;
md for about an hour there was a lively interchange
of pleasant chat, piquant remarks, and gossipy anecdotes.
The host of the evening was not talkative, but was atten-
tive to every one, and had the tact to keep the conver-
sation lively and general. Mr. Fields had brought some
Interesting bits of publishers' gossip out from Boston with
him, which afforded material for comment and pleasan^
raillery. . . .
Before the repast was ended, one of Longfellow's sons
came in, — a slim young fellow, full of boyish vivacity and
ready talk. It was pleasant to note the attention paid by
the father to his account of what he had been doing and
how he had enjoyed himself during the visit from which
he had just returned, and the interest manifested by ques-
tions he put to draw the young man out.
All pleasures come to an end at some time. The
guests rose, prepared themselves for the wintry night air ;
and after a warm hand-clasp, and cordial invitation to
repeat the evening's experience, each took his homeward
way. . . .
342 OTHER REMINISCENCES.
Three or four months later, the first volume of 'The
Divine Comedy,' containing the Inferno, was published,
and I prepared a review of it. A marked copy was sent
to the publishers, as customary. Very soon after, I was
both surprised and gratified by the receipt of the following
letter : —
Cambridge, May 14, 1867.
My dear Sir, — I have had the pleasure of receiving the
Cleveland Herald containing your most friendly and sympathetic
notice of my translation of the Divine Comedy, and I hasten to thank
you for your great kindness.
The notice is excellent, bringing forward just the points I
should wish to have touched upon. It is positive and not negative ;
and wiU not fail to do the work much good.
It is difficult to thank one for praise ; so let me thank you
rather for teUiiig your readers what I have tried to do, and how far,
in your opinion, I have succeeded.
Our pleasant Wednesday evenings are now ended, for the pres-
ent at least ; but I hope in the autumn, on some pretext or other,
we shall begin again ; and that we may once more have the pleasure
of seeing you among us.
Lowell is well; and we are urging him to take up the Canzoni,
which I really hope he wiU do.
In 1882 a lady wrote to Mr. Longfellow, sending him a
sketch which Thackeray had drawn one morning in 1856
in her father's library. It was on the cover of a number
of Putnam's Magazine, which was adorned, as the readers
of that day will recall, with two tall palm-trees extending
from the bottom to the top of the page. On the upper
part of this cover was a hmette, drawn with pen and ink,
of a negro hoeing in a cotton field, and under it was the
legend: "Am I not a man and a brother?" On the
lower part of the page a similar lunette showed a Turk
sitting cross-legged, smoking a narghile. On the border
of the cover was sketched a tremendously elongated man,
OTHER BEMINISOENCES. 343
about as tall as the palm-tree by which he stood, ogling a
tiny bird drawn on one of its branches. Under this figure
Thackeray had written " Longfellow," — a pun fresher in
1856 than now.
A writer in the Washington Post gives this ac-
count of a visit to the poet : ^ —
Provided with a letter of introduction, I entered the
gate of the grounds, which is ever hospitably open ; and
standing on the piazza was the gray-haired poet himself.
He advanced, and saluted his visitor with a gracious
courtesy that would have put the most timid at their
ease and kept the most presumptuous in check. He has
[a native] kindliness and a beautiful simplicity in man-
ner, — that which the French have aptly called the
"politeness of the heart," —
" His eyes diffuse a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face."
... A young enthusiast exclaimed, after seeing him,
"All the vulgar and pretentious people in the world
ought to be sent to see Mr. Longfellow, to learn how
to behave." He led the way to his study, a sunny cor-
ner room, and wheeling up a comfortable chair for his
visitor, seated himself in his own especial chair.
" Now," said he in the kindest voice, " tell me what you
have written."
He listened with an admirable attention to the story,
old but always interesting to a veteran, of the struggles
of a literary beginner. Then he said impressively, " Al-
ways write your best," — repeating it, with his hand
1 I have drawn this and the two passages which foUow from Mr.
W. S. Kennedy's biography.
344 OTHER KEMINISCENCES.
upraised — "remember, yowr best. Keep a scrap-book,
and put in it everything you write. It will be of great
service to you."
He spoke of Thackeray with admiration; "he was so
great, so honest a writer." In speaking of the saints
whom the Eoman Catholics revere, he said : " I too have a
favorite saint, — St. Francis of Assisi." . . .
He agreed with his visitor in a dislike for the modern
verse that makes sense subservient to sound, and turns
poetry into an elaborate arrangement of ornate phrases.
In response to a quotation on the question, from Macaulay,
to the effect that literary style should not only be so clear
that it can be understood, but so clear that it cannot be
misunderstood, he said : " I like simplicity in all things,
but above all in poetry."
He spoke with strong aversion of the crude skepticism
of the day, explaining, however, that the term " skeptic "
was habitually misapplied, as it means not necessarily
an unbeliever, but a seeker after truth. I remarked that
the first order of mind was not skeptical, — Shakespeare,
Dante, Milton, Bacon, Pascal, as compared with minds of
the calibre of Voltaire and Gibbon ; following with a quo-
tation of Thackeray's noble lines : " 0 awful, awful Name
of God ! Light unbearable ! Mystery unfathomable ! Vast-
ness immeasurable ! 0 Name that God's people did fear
to utter ! 0 Light that God's prophet would have per-
ished had he seen ! who are they who now are so familiar
with it ? " He seemed much struck. " That," he said, " is
a very grand sentence."
He took down two magnificent volumes of Dante. "This
is my latest present," said he. I opened one, and exclaimed :
"Why, this is Dutch!" "Yes, it is Dutch," said Mr.
Longfellow, smiling ; " and do you know there is no lan-
guage in the world in which Dante can be so success-
fully translated as Dutch, owing to the formation of the
OTHER KEMINISCENCES. 345
participle ? " And he gave a short explanation of the dif-
ferences and difficulties of translating Dante into English
verse.
A correspondent of the Chicago Times wrote
thus of his visit : —
My thoughts revert to a bright day in last September,
when, with a friend, I passed the morning and the greater
part of the afternoon in Longfellow's home with the poet
and his daughters. Over the door of the old-fashioned
and very interesting house hung the American flag, half
furled, and draped in mourning for President Garfield, who
had died but two days before. I lifted the brass knocker
with nervousness, thinking of the many distinguished
people who had sought admittance there ; and at once it
was answered by a neat maid-servant, who ushered us into
the quaint old drawing-room, the walls of which were hung
with light-colored paper with vines of roses trailing over
it, — a style of many years ago. We had no time for
further observation; for almost immediately Mr. Long-
fellow came in, greeting us most kindly, saying, " Come in-
to my room, where we shall be more at ease ; I cannot
make strangers of you ! " How gladly we followed him,
but without a word of reply; for, to acknowledge the
truth, my heart at least was beating too painfully with the
realization that I was in the presence of the poet beloved
from my childhood. In person he was smaller than I had
fancied him, — only of medium height ; but his face,
made familiar by his portraits, seemed that of an old
friend. His silvery hair was carelessly thrown back from
his forehead, the full beard and mustache partially con-
cealed the pleasant mouth; but his mild blue eyes ex-
pressed the kindliness of his heart and his quick reading
of the hearts of others. He wore a Prince Albert coat of
346 OTHER REMINISCENCES.
very dark brown cloth, with trousers of a much lighter
shade, and a dark-blue necktie. In his study we sat some
hours, listening to his low, musical voice as he talked on
many interesting topics, and read aloud to us from his
beautiful ' Evangeline,' and selections from other poets.
... In everything he read he found some new beauty,
and spoke of it with almost boyish pleasure. We listened
with delight to all ; then he said : " You will tire of me
and my nonsense. Come and meet my daughters. I
shall not let you go ; you must drink a cup of tea with us."
Then we were led into the large, cheerful dining-room,
where was spread a delicious luncheon. Miss Alice pre-
sided ; Miss Annie being engaged in superintending the
meal laid on a tiny table out on the broad porch, where
two little children were being made happy. Mr. Longfel-
low was called, and we followed, to look upon the pretty
scene; and when the children saw him they dropped
their " goodies " and ran to climb up and receive his kiss
and beg him to play with them. Then we gathered around
the table, the copper kettle singing merrily; and Mr.
Longfellow made the tea with his own hands, and poured
it from the antique silver teapot for our enjoyment.
.While many dishes were offered us, the poet took simply
his tea and Graham biscuit. There was no ostentatious
ceremony, but all was served with quiet ease, as if only
the famUy circle were gathered there. After lunch Mr.
Lorigfellow led us through the house, pointing out his
favorite pictures and treasures, relating interesting in-
cidents as we passed from room to room. . . . Then we
nestled upon the broad east porch, while the poet smoked
a cigarette and chatted the while of many books and au-
thors. . . . When the hour arrived for our departure, the
venerable poet walked with us to the gate ; and under the
beautiful lilac hedge which surrounds the place we said
good-by.
X
o
O
g
»
o
w
OTHER EEMINISCENCES. 347
A neighbor of Mr. Longfellow wrote to the
New York Independent as follows : —
The poet was never more attractive than m unexpected
interviews with absolute strangers. He received them
with gentle courtesy, glided readily iato common topics,
but carefully warded off all complimentary references to
his works. This was his invariable custom in general
conversation. 1 was present when a distinguished party
from Canada was introduced, and remember, when a
charming lady of the party gracefully repeated a message
of high comphment from the Princess Louise, how courte-
ously he received it, and how instantly he turned the con-
versation in another direction. I remember, at another
of these introductions, a stranger lady distrustfully asked
Mr. Longfellow for his autograph. He assured her by
at once assenting, while he remarked : " I know some per-
sons object to giving their autographs ; but if so little a
thing will give pleasure, how can one refuse ? "
Mr Longfellow often amused his friends with humor-
ous accounts of some of these visits. I recall his account
of one which seemed to delight him hugely. An Eng-
lish gentleman thus abruptly introduced himself without
letters : " In other countries, you know, we go to see ruins
and the like ; but you have no ruins in your country, and
I thought," growing embarrassed, " I thought I would call
and see you'' . . .
I recollect his telling me that the Duke of Argyll, a
persistent ornithologist, troubled him considerably by ask-
ing him names of birds whose notes they heard while sit-
ting on his veranda. Mr. Longfellow was no naturalist ;
he did not know our birds specifically, and flowers are
sometimes found blooming at extraordinary seasons in his
poetry. He remarked to me once upon the flaming splen-
dor of the Cydonia Jajponica (red-flowering quince), and
348 OTHER REMINISCENCES.
asked the name of that familiar shrub, saying, "I know
nothing about flowers." Yet he saw in Nature what no
mere naturalist could ever hope to see.
Another says : —
I was in his library last fall with a young girl from
California. She had been the wide world over, but stood
shy and silent in his presence, moved to tears by his
kindly welcome. It was touching to see the poet's ap-
preciation of this, and his quick glance over his table
that he might find something to interest her and make
her forget her embarrassment. Taking up a little box
covered with glass, he put it into her hand, and said:,
" This is a mournful thing to put into the hands of a bright
girl ; but think of it ! six hundred years ago the bit
of wood in that box touched Dante's bones ; " and he re-
lated how this piece of Dante's coffin had come into his
possession. He led her to his piano, and asked her to
play for him. He told her anecdotes of Coleridge and
Moore as he showed her their inkstands. . . . Soon his
young visitor was chatting with him as freely as if she
had not entered his door with a timidity amounting almost
to fear. After that he turned to us. I hope he under-
stood how this act had been silently appreciated by us ;
yet I think he was all-unconscious of the picture he
created, — a picture never to be forgotten by those of us
who witnessed it.
A young man writes : —
I remember my visit to Mr. Longfellow in 1881 as
well as if it were an event of yesterday. Having received
a box of oranges from a young lady in Florida (for whom
I had, through Mr. Owen, obtained an autograph of the
OTHER EEMINISCENCES. 349
poet), I carried a basket of them to Cambridge as a sort
of thank-offering. Many a time I had paused in front of
the old house on Brattle Street and longed to enter and
tell what pleasure and comfort I had found in reading the
poems that had been written there. My brother and I
stood in awe as we waited on the doorstep for somebody
to answer our timid summons. The maid who came said
that Mr. Longfellow was in, and ushered us into his pres-
ence. This embarrassed us, for we felt that he should
first have been asked whether he could spare even a mo-
ment to see us. It seemed hardly possible that I was ac-
tually in the company of the poet at last, where I had so
often wished I might be for a moment.
Our errand was soon stated, and Mr. Longfellow ap-
peared much pleased to accept our gift. " This basket is so
pretty that I must not deprive you of it," he said ; and
he rang for a maid to empty it of the fruit. And then
he talked to us about Florida, and about the pleasure
of visiting new scenes ; talked about schools, " the old
clock," and other matters. We probably stayed only ten
minutes ; yet it seemed a long time to us, for Mr. Long-
fellow spoke so pleasantly on every subject on which we
touched. As we left the house he picked up the Tran-
script from the doorstep, and I went away, hoping that
some little paragraph which I had written might interest
him for a moment in the evening.
I suppose everybody has his idols. In a humble way
I had long worshipped Mr. Longfellow, and it gratified me
beyond expression to find him as I had pictured him, —
the ideal of a kind, sympathetic, noble man. " I can never
forget that call," said I to my brother as we walked down
the street with light hearts ; " it is the most memorable
in my life." And my brother echoed the sentiment. To
have been in the poet's study, to have seen him and heard
his voice, made us completely happy.
350 OTHER REMINISCENCES.
A few months later, a quantity of fresh jasmine buds
came to me from Mandarin ; and as they had been gath-
ered near Mrs. Stowe's house, it seemed to me that they
might please Mr. Longfellow, they having retained much
of their fragrance and something of their beauty. And
so I sent some of them to him ; and to my surprise and
joy I received an acknowledgment in his own hand-
writing.
Mr. F. H. Underwood, in a recent number of
Good Words, writes thus: —
His work was done in morning hours. Doubtless, he
had his bright and his dull days, but he never gave way
to idleness or ennui. When the inspiration came he cov-
ered a large space with verses ; but he had the power to
go back, and to forge anew or retouch before the fire had
cooled. His methods were careful to the last degree ;
poems were kept and considered a long time, line by line ;
and he sometimes had them set up in type for better
scrutiny. They were left so perhaps for months, and
when they appeared it was after rigorous criticism had
been exhausted. ,
He was not without business knowledge and tact, but
he spent his income generously, and much of it in secret
charity. I knew of an instance when an author, in no
way intimate with him, was ill and destitute, and was
about to seU his library; and greatly to his surprise,
he received one day Longfellow's cheque for five hun-
dred dollars. He was continually doing such acts of
kindness.
His shrewdness and humor sometimes took the same
road. When ' Hiawatha ' appeared, it was sharply attacked
in certain newspapers, and Fields, his publisher, after read-
OTHER REMINISCENCES. 351
ing something particularly savage, went out in a state of
excitement to see Longfellow. The poet heard the account,
and then in a casual way said, "By the way, Mr. Fields,
how is the book selling ? " " Enormously ; we are running
presses night and day to fill the orders." " Very well,"
said Longfellow quietly, "then don't you think we had
better let these critics go on advertising it ? "
At a social gathering a poem recently published was
picked to pieces amid shouts of laughter, in which it was
observed Longfellow did not join. A few minutes later,
taking up the despised poem and selecting here and there
a good line or phrase, like one looking for flowers rather
than nettles, he said, "After all, young gentlemen, the man
who has thought these beautiful things cannot be wholly
ridiculous ! "
On festive occasions he was only shyly, delicately hu-
morous, and rarely attempted an epigrammatic sally, still
less to take part in a passage-at-arms ; but his enjoyment
of the gay skirmishes between others was evident. His
voice, countenance, and manner conveyed one harmonious
impression. His gray-blue eyes were tender rather than
sad, and they were sometimes lighted by sweet smiles.
His dignified bearing made him appear tall, though he
was not above the medium height. A Frenchman who
had visited him described him as being six feet. His
simple and beautiful courtesy made every caller think
himself a friend. In no ignoble sense, there was some-
thing caressing in his address.
Mr. Moncure Conway recalls these incidents :
On one occasion he met an English friend in Boston on
the street. It was just after the return of a fugitive slave.
While the two were conversing, a policeman came up and
352 OTHER REMINISCENCES.
told the Englishman, who had a cigar, that smoking was
not allowed in the street. "This policeman is right," said
Longfellow ; " Boston sends men into slavery, but allows
no smoking in the street."
Once when some politician had made a speech in which
he identified the honor of America with some national
injustice, Longfellow said it reminded him of Gil Bias
saying to the horse-dealer "that he would trust to his
honesty." The horse-dealer replied, "When you appeal
to my honesty, you touch my weak point."
Agassii! one day began half playfully trying to persuade
Longfellow to write a poem on the great revelations of
science concerning the earth. He grew eloquent depict-
ing the successive periods of primeval rock, vast forests
of fern, strange, huge creatures, etc. " There ought to be
an epic written about it," cried Agassiz. Longfellow said
he had no doubt there ought to be, and might be ; but he
was not the man to do it.
A lady relates that, passing one day a jeweller's window
in New York, her attention was arrested by hearing from
a crowd gathered before it a voice in unmistakable brogue
saying, " Shure, and that 's for Hiawatha." The speaker
was a ragged Irish laborer, unshaven and unshorn. She
looked, and saw a silver boat with the figure of an Indian
standing in the prow. " That must be," continued the
speaker, " for a prisintation to the poet Longfellow ; thim
two lines cut on the side of the boat is from his poethry."
" That is fame," said the friend to whom she told the story.
The two following simple incidents, occurring,
one in the English, and the other in the American,
OTHER REMINISCENCES. 3^3
Cambridge, thrown by their observers into verse,
may close this chapter : —
We plunged this morning into country lanes,
Talking and walking at our ease along,
Wlien suddenly a distant sound of song
Stole down the hedgerow to us. No, no wains
With reapers chanting over harvest gains.
For this is Christmas. Then the sound grew strong.
And presently a rosy-cheeked child-throng
Tripped round the road-bend, shrilling rhymed strains ; —
A dozen cottage children, brown as birds,
With wild high voices and a fund of glee.
Their whole hearts in their singing, and their words
Thine own, gray poet ! come from over sea.
We thought it would have made you very glad
If you had met the little choir we had.
I saw a boy beside a poet's gate
Coaxing from wheezy pipes a doleful strain,
And seeming some kind answer to await :
" Ah, boy ! " I said, " your discord is in vain."
I saw a poet a window open wide,
And smile, and toss down pennies to the boy ;
The great sun pushed the April clouds aside,
A tiny bird looked up and sang for joy.
Poet of all time ! Beggar of to-day !
For me, unseen, this benison you leave, — •
In God's great world there is no lonely way ;
Humblest and highest may give and may receive.^
1 It was on one such occasion that he said to his companion, " I
always like to pay the musicians ; they have to work hard." And
smiling, added, " Did you ever carry a burden on your back ? "
23
CITAPTER XVm.
TRIBUTES.
After the burial at Mount Auburn on the 26th
of March, 1882, a funeral service was held in the
College Chapel, at which the Rev. Professor C. C.
Everett made the following address : —
In this service of sympathy and reverent sorrow it is a
comforting and inspiring thought that the feeling which
has drawn us here is shared by multitudes wherever the
English tongue is spoken. Many, indeed, share it to
whom the songs of our poet are known only in what is to
them a foreign speech. It shows our civilization in one
of its most interesting aspects, that a feeling so pro-
found, so pure, so uplifting, should unite such a large por-
tion of the world to-day. Here is no dazzling position ;
here is no startling circumstance : a simple life has uttered
itself in song, and men have listened, rejoiced, and loved,
and now they mourn. Yet for us there is a deeper sorrow.
While others mourn the poet who is gone, we mourn the
man. He was our townsman, he was our neighbor, he
was our friend. We knew the simple beauty of his life ;
we knew its truth, its kindness, its helpfulness, its strength.
We could not, indeed, separate from our thought of him the
knowledge of his fame and of his genius ; but even this
showed only his heart in its true beauty. We saw him
wear the honors of the world more easily than many bear
the small triumphs of our ordinary bfe. Thus we knew
and loved him, and thus we sorrow for him.
TRIBUTES. 355
But this difference of -which I speak is, after all, one
chiefly of degree. He poured himself into his songs, and
wherever they went he was found with them; and in
them others found the beauty of that spirit which was re-
vealed to us in its nearer presence. Thus he drew very
near to many hearts ; thus many, who never looked upon
his face, feel to-day that they, too, have lost a friend. You
remember how sweetly and gracefully he greets these un-
seen and unknown friends in the dedication of one of his
books. He feels their presence, though he sees them not.
He enters their households sure of a welcome. Thus he
cries : —
" I hope as no unwelcome guest
At the warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted,
To have my place reserved among the rest."
The kindly request was heeded ; he found a place in
many households which he had never seen. And now by
many a fireside it is almost as though there was one more
" vacant chair."
I have said he poured his life into his work. It is
singular that the phase of life and experience which
forms so large a portion of poetry, which many sing if
they sing nothing else, he was content to utter in prose,
— if prose we must call the language of his romances.
He seems content to have scattered unbound the iiowers
of romantic love at the doors of the temple of his song.
There is something strange, too, in the fascination which
the thought of death has for so many generous youth.
You remember that Bryant first won fame by a hymn to
death ; and so, I think, the first fame of Longfellow which
won recognition for him was that translation of those
sounding Spanish lines which exalt the majesty of death
and sing the shortness of human life. But the first song
of his own which won the recognition of the world was
not a song of death, it was a psalm of life. That little
356 TRIBUTES.
volume, the Voices of the Night, formed an epoch in
our literary history. It breathed his whole spirit, — his
energy, his courage, his tenderness, his faith ; it formed the
prelude of all which should come after ; and henceforth
we find his whole life imaged in his verse. I do not mean
that he tore open the secrets of the heart or the home ; but
all is there, — transfigured, enlarged, made universal, made
the common property of all. We wander with him
through foreign lands; he takes us with him into his
studies, and in his translations he gives us their fairest
fruits. We hear with him the greeting of the new-born
child ; we are taken into the sacred joy of home ; the
merry notes of the children's hour ring upon our ears;
we feel the paius of sorrow and of loss; we hear the
prayer of elevated trust. And when age draws near at
last, when the shadows begin to fall, then we share
with him the solemnity and sublimity of the gathering
darkness.
The life which is thus imaged in these songs was one
that was fitted for such use. I think we may look at
it as one of the most rounded lives that ever has been
lived upon earth, so that we can say there seems little
that was lacking to its perfect completeness. I do not
mean there was no sorrow in it. What life can be made
perfect without that 1 What poet's life can be made com-
plete without the experience of suffering ? But from the
very first his life flowed on its calm and even way. His
first songs received the applause of the world, and the
sympathy of men moved with him as he moved forward
in his work. Travel in foreign lands enlarged his sympa-
thies and added a picturesqueness to his poems which
they otherwise might have lacked. The literature of all
ages and nations was open to him, and he drew from all.
It is said, I know, that thus he represents the culture of
the past and of foreign lands ; that he is not our poet, not
TRIBUTES. 357
American. But what is the genius of our country, what
is American ? Is it not the very genius of our nation to
bring together elements from far-off lands, fusing them into
one, and making a new type of man ? The American poet
should represent the genius of all lands. He must have
no provincial Muse. He must sing of the forest and of
the sea ; but not of these alone. He must be " heir of all
the ages." He must be a representative of all the cul-
ture of all time. He must absorb all things into himself,
and stand free, strong, able, a man as simple as though he
had never strayed beyond his native woods. He must, in
other words, be like our Longfellow. When what we may
call his preparation was completed, his life flowed on its
course, gathering only greater and calmer feelings as it
flowed. His age was as beautiful as his manhood and his
youth. 'Morituri Salutamus,' that marvellous poem, is
perhaps the grandest hymn to age that was ever written.
Death is no distant dream, as it was when those sounding
Spanish lines fell from his pen ; he feels its shadows ; he
feels that the end is drawing near. But there he stands,
strong and calm, with sublime faith as at first ; he greets
the present as he greeted the past ; he gathers from the
coming of age, from approaching night, not a signal for
rest, but a new summons to activity. He cries : —
" It is too late ! Ah, nothing is too late
Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate."
And so he takes up his glad work again; and I think
some of his sweetest and deepest songs date from this
latest period, — such as that graceful poem to Tennyson,
that chivalrous greeting from one son of song to another,
and that tender message that he sent to Lowell across the
seas in ' Elmwood Herons.' There comes in a little play-
fulness, too, of which there was not much in his earlier
songs.
358 TRIBUTES.
His was a calm, loving age, full of activity, confidence,
and peace. He writes upon his latest volume those words
that mark the end of his career, and his labors are at an
end. The Ultima Thule has been reached. The world's
love gathered about him as he lived, and its homage was
breathed into his ear. On his last birthday there was
paid to him an ovation given to few living. From the
home of his youth in Maine came greetings ; children's
voices, those which were ever most welcome to his ear,
joined in the acclaim. Thus the story of his life was
completed. His last book had been written, and marked
by him as his last ; the final greeting of the world had
been uttered to him, and he passed away.
" He passed away ! " I think we have not yet learned
the meaning of those words. I think we do not yet quite
feel them. We still half think we may sometimes meet him
in his familiar haunts. Does not this protest of the heart
contain a truth ? His spirit, as we trust, has been called
bo higher service; yet he had given himself unto the world,
be had breathed himself into his songs: in them he is
with us still. Wherever they go, as they wander over
the world, he will be with them, a minister of love ; he
will be by the side of youth, pointing to heights as yet
unsealed, bidding him have faith and courage; he will
be with the wanderer in foreign lands, making the beauty
bhat he sees more fair ; he will be with the mariner on the
seas ; he will be in the quiet beauty of home ; he will be
by the side of the sorrowing heart, pointing to a higher
faith. When old age is gathering about the human soul,
he will be there still, to cry that "age is opportunity
no less than youth itself." Thus will he inspire faith
and courage in all, and point us all to those two sources
of strength that never fail, — "Heart within, and God
o'erhead."
TRIBUTES. 359
At a meeting of the Massachusetts Historical
Society, of which Mr. Longfellow had been for
twenty-five years a member, Dr. Oliver Wendell
Holmes addressed the Society as follows : —
It is with no vain lamentations, but rather with pro-
found gratitude, that we follow the soul of our much-loved
and long-loved poet beyond the confines of the world
he helped so largely to make beautiful. We could have
wished to keep him longer ; but at least we were spared
witnessing the inevitable shadows of an old age protracted
too far beyond its natural limits. From the first notes of
his fluent and harmonious song to the last, which comes to
us as the " voice fell like a falling star," there has never
been a discord. The music of the mountain stream, in the
poem which reaches us from the other shore of being,^
is as clear and sweet as the melodies of the youthful
and middle periods of his minstrelsy. It has been a
fully rounded life, beginning early with large promise,
equalling every anticipation in its maturity, fertile and
beautiful to its close in the ripeness of its well-filled
years.
Until the silence fell upon us we did not entirely appre-
ciate how largely his voice was repeated in the echoes of
our own hearts. The affluence of his production so accus-
tomed us to look for a poem from him at short intervals
that we could hardly feel how precious that was which
was so abundant. Not, of course, that every single poem
reached the standard of the highest among them all. That
could not be in Homer's time, and mortals must occa-
sionally nod now as then. But the hand of the artist
shows itself unmistakably in everything which left his
* The poem ' Mad River in the White Mountains ' appeared in the
Atlantic Monthly after Mr. Longfellow's death.
360 TRIBUTES.
desk. The 0 of Giotto could not telp being a perfect
round, and the verse of Longfellow is always perfect in
construction.
He worked in that simple and natural way which char-
acterizes the master. But it is one thing to be simple
through poverty of intellect, and another thing to be sim-
ple by repression of all redundancy and overstatement ; one
thing to be natural through ignorance of all rules, and an-
other to have made a second nature out of the sovereign
rules of art. In respect of this simplicity and naturalness,
his style is in strong contrast to that of many writers of
our time. There is no straining for effect, there is no
torturing of rhythm for novel patterns, no wearisome
iteration of petted words, no inelegant clipping of syl-
lables to meet the exigencies of a verse, no affected ar-
chaism, rarely any liberty taken with language, — unless
it may be in the form of a few words in the translation of
Dante. I will not except from these remarks the singular
and original form which he gave to his poem of ' Hiawatha,'
— a poem with a curious history in many respects. Sud-
denly and immensely popular in this country, greatly ad-
mired by many foreign critics, imitated with perfect ease
by any clever schoolboy, serving as a model for metrical
advertisements, made fun of, sneered at, abused, admired,
but, at any rate, a picture full of pleasing fancies and
melodious cadences. The very names are jewels which
the most fastidious Muse might be proud to wear. Coming
from the realm of the Androscoggin and of Moosetukma-
guntuk, how could he have found two such delicious names
as Hiawatha and Minnehaha ? The eight-syllable trochaic
verse of ' Hiawatha,' like the eight-syllable iambic verse of
' The Lady of the Lake,' and others of Scott's poems, has a
fatal facility, which I have elsewhere endeavored to explain
on physiological principles. The recital of each line uses
up the air of one natural expiration, so that we read, as we
TRIBUTES. 361
naturally do, eighteen or twenty lines in a minute, without
disturbing the normal rhythm of breathing, which is also
eighteen or twenty breaths to the minute. The standing
objection to this is, "that it makes the octosyllabic verse
too easy writing and too slipshod reading. Yet in this
most frequently criticised composition the poet has shown
a subtle sense of the requirements of his simple story of a
primitive race, in choosing the most fluid of measures, that
lets the thought run through it in easy sing-song, such as
oral tradition would be sure to find on the lips of the story-
tellers of the wigwam. Although Longfellow was not fond
of metrical contortions and acrobatic achievements, he well
knew the effects of skilful variation in the forms of verse
and well-managed refrains or repetitions. In one of his
very earliest poems — ' Pleasant it was when woods were
green' — the dropping a syllable from the last line [but
one] is an agreeable surprise to the ear, expecting only the
common monotony of scrupulously balanced lines. In
' Excelsior ' the repetition of the aspiring exclamation
which gives its name to the poem lifts every stanza a
step higher than the one which preceded it. In the ' Old
Clock on the Stair ' the solemn words, '' Forever, never,
never, forever," give wonderful effectiveness to that most
impressive poem.
All his art, all his learning, all his melody, cannot ac-
count for his extraordinary popularity, not only among his
own countrymen and those who in other lands speak the
language in which he wrote, but in foreign realms, where
he could only be read through the ground glass of a trans-
lation. It was in his choice of subjects that one source of
the public favor with which his writings, more especially
his poems, were received, obviously lay. A poem, to be
widely popular, must deal with thoughts and emotions
that belong to common, not exceptional character, con-
ditions, interests. The most popular of all books are those
362 TRIBUTES.
which meet the spiritual needs of mankind most power-
fully,— such works as the Imitation of Christ and the
Pilgrim's Progress. I suppose if the great multitude of
readers were to render a decision as to which of Long-
fellow's poems they most valued, the 'Psalm of Life'
would command the largest number. This is a brief hom-
ily, enforcing the great truths of duty and of our rela-
tion to the unseen world. Next in order would very
probably come ' Excelsior,' — a poem that springs upward
like a flame and carries the soul up with it in its aspiration
for the unattainable ideal. If this sounds like a trumpet-
call to the fiery energies of youth, not less does the still
small voice of that most sweet and tender poem, ' Eesigna-
tion,' appeal to the sensibilities of those who have lived long
enough to know the bitterness of such a bereavement as
that out of which grew the poem. Or take a poem before
referred to, 'The Old Clock on the Stair ; ' and in it we find
the history of innumerable households told in relating the
history of one, and the solemn burden of the song repeats
itself to thousands of listening readers, as if the beat of the
pendulum were throbbing at the head of every staircase.
Such poems as these — and there are many more of not
unlike character — are the foundation of that universal
acceptance his writings obtain among all classes. But
for these appeals to universal sentiment, his readers would
have been confined to a comparatively small circle of the
educated and refined. There are thousands and tens
of thousands who are familiar with what we might call
his household poems who have never read the Spanish
Student, ' The Golden Legend,' ' Hiawatha,' or even ' Evan-
geline.' Again, ask the first schoolboy you meet which of
Longfellow's poems he likes best, and he will be very likely
to answer, ' Paul Eevere's Eide.' When he is a few years
older he might perhaps say, ' The Building of the Ship,'
— that admirably constructed poem, beginning with the
TillBUTES. 363
literal description, passing into the higher region of senti-
ment by the most natural of transitions, and ending with
the noble climax, —
" Thou, too, sail on, 0 Ship of State,"
which has become the classical expression of patriotic
emotion.
Nothing lasts like a coin and a lyric. Long after the
dwellings of men have disappeared, when their temples
are in ruins and all their works of art are shattered, the
ploughman strikes an earthen vessel holding the golden
and silver disks on which the features of a dead monarch
— ' with emblems, it may be, betraying the beliefs or the
manners, the rudeness or the finish of art, and all which
this implies — survive an extinct civilization. Pope has
expressed this with his usual Horatian felicity in the
letter to Addison on the publication of his little Treatise
on Coins, —
" A small Euphrates through the piece is rolled,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold."
Conquerors and conquered sink in common oblivion ; tri-
umphal arches, pageants the world wonders at, all that
trumpeted itself as destined to an earthly immortahty,
pass away ; the victor of a hundred battles is dust ; the
parchments or papyrus on which his deeds were written
are shrivelled and decayed and gone, —
" And all his triumphs shrink into a coin."
So it is with a lyric poem. One happy utterance of
some emotion or expression, which comes home to all,
may keep a name remembered when the race to which'
the singer belonged is lost sight of. The cradle-song of
Danae to her infant as they tossed on the waves in the
imprisoning chest, has made the name of Simonides immor-
364 TRIBUTES.
tal. Our own Englisli literature abounds with instances
which illustrate the same fact so far as the experience of
a few generations extends ; and I think we may venture
to say that some of the shorter poems of Longfellow must
surely reach a remote posterity, and be considered then, as
now, ornaments to English literature. We may compare
them with the best short poems of the language without
fearing that they will suffer. Scott, cheerful, wholesome,
unrefiective, should be read in the open air ; Byron, the
poet of malecontents and cynics, in a prison-cell ; Burns,
generous, impassioned, manly, social, in the tavern-hall ;
Moore, elegant, fastidious, full of melody, scented with
the volatile perfume of the Eastern gardens, in which his
fancy revelled, is pre-eminently the poet of the drawing-
room and the piano ; Longfellow, thoughtful, musical,
home -loving, busy with the lessons of life, which he was
ever studying, and loved to teach others, finds his charmed
circle of listeners by the fireside. His songs, which we
might almost call sacred ones, rarely if ever get into the
hymn-books. They are too broadly human to suit the
specialized tastes of the sects, which often think more of
their differences from each other than of the common
ground on which they can agree. Shall we think less
of our poet because ne so frequently aimed in his verse
not simply to please, but also to impress some elevating
thought on the minds of his readers ? The Psalms of
King David are burning with religious devotion and full
of weighty counsel ; but they are not less valued, certainly,
than the poems of Omar Khayam, which cannot be ac-
cused of too great a tendency to find a useful lesson in
their subject. Dennis, the famous critic, found fault with
the ' Eape of the Lock ' because it had no moral. It is
not necessary that a poem should carry a moral, any more
than that a picture of a Madonna should always be an
altar-piece. The poet himself is the best judge of that
TRIBUTES. 365
in each particular case. In that charming little poem
of Wordsworth's, ending, —
" And then my heart with rapture thrills,
And dances with the daffodils,"
we do not ask for anything more than the record of the
impression which is told so simply, and which justifies
itself by the way in which it is told. But who does not
feel with the poet that the touching story, ' Hart-leap
Well,' must have its lesson brought out distinctly, to give a
fitting close to the narrative ? Who would omit those two
lines ? —
" Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that lives."
No poet knew better than Longfellow how to impress a
moral without seeming to preach. Didactic verse, as such,
is no doubt a formidable visitation ; but a cathedral has
its lesson to teach as well as a school-house. These beau-
tiful medallions of verse which Longfellow has left us
might possibly be found fault with as conveying too much
useful and elevating truth in their legends, having the
unartistic aim of being serviceable as well as delighting
by their beauty. Let us leave such comment to the
critics who cannot handle a golden coin, fresh from the
royal mint, without clipping its edges and stamping their
own initials on its face.
Of the longer poems of our chief singer, I should not
hesitate to select ' Evangeline ' as the masterpiece ; and I
think the general verdict of opinion would confirm my
choice. The German model which it follows in its meas-
ure and the character of its story was itself suggested by
an earlier idyl. If Dorothea was the mother of Evange-
line, Luise was the mother of Dorothea. And what a
beautiful creation is the Acadian maiden ! From the first
line of the poem, from its first words, we read as we would
366 TRIBUTES.
float down, a broad and placid river, murmuring softly
against its banks, heaven over it and the glory of the
unspoiled wildemess all around,
" This is the forest primeval."
The words are already as familiar as
" M.!jvLV aeiSs, Bed,"
or
" Anna virumque cano."
The hexameter has been often criticised ; but I do not be-
lieve any other measure could have told that lovely story
with such effect, as we feel when carried along the tranquil
current of these brimming, slow-moving, soul-satisfying
lines. Imagine for one moment a story like this minced
into octosyllabics. The poet knows better than his critics
the length of step which best befits his Muse.
I will not take up your time with any further remarks
upon writings so well known to all. By the poem I have
last mentioned, and by his lyrics, or shorter poems, I think
the name of Longfellow will be longest remembered.
Whatever he wrote, whether in prose or poetry, bore al-
ways the marks of the finest scholarship, the purest taste,
fertile imagination, a sense of the music of words, and
a skill in bringing it out of our English tongue, which
hardly more than one of his contemporaries who write in
that language can be said to equal.
The saying of Buffon, that the style is the man himself,
— or of the man himself, as some versions have it, — was
never truer than in the case of our beloved poet. Let us
understand by " style " all that gives individuality to the
expression of a writer ; and in the subjects, the handling,
the spirit and aim of his poems, we see the reflex of a per-
sonal character which made him worthy of that almost
unparalleled homage which crowned his noble life. Such
a funeral procession as attended him in thought to his
TRIBUTES. 367
resting-place has never joined the train of mourners that
followed the hearse of a poet, — could we not say of any
private citizen ? And we all feel that no tribute could
be too generous> too universal, to the union of a divine
gift with one of the loveliest of human characters.
Dr. Holmes was followed by Mr. Charles Eliot
Norton, who said : —
I could wish that this were a silent meeting. There is
no need of formal commemorative speech to-day, for all
the people of the land, the whole Enghsh-speaking race, —
and not they alone, — mourn our friend and poet. Never
was poet so mourned, for never was poet so beloved.
There is nothing of lamentation in our mourning. He
has not been untimely taken. His life was " prolonged
with many years, happy and famous." Death came to him
iu good season, or ever the golden bowl was broken, or the
pitcher broken at the cistern. Desire had but lately failed.
Life was fair to him almost to its end. On his seventy-
fourth birthday, a little more than a year ago, with his
family and a few friends round his dinner-table, he said,
" There seems to me a mistake in the order of the years :
I can hardly believe that the four should not precede the
seven." But in the year that followed he experienced the
pains and languor and weariness of age. There was no
complaiut ; the sweetness of his nature was iu vincible.
On one of the last times that I saw him, as I entered
his familiar study on a beautiful afternoon of this past
winter, I said to him, " I hope this is a good day for
you ? " He replied, with a pleasant smile, " Ah ! there
are no good days now." Happily, the evil days were not
to be many. . . .
The accord between the character and life of Mr. Long-
fellow and his poems was complete. His poetry touched
368 TRIBUTES.
the hearts of his readers because it was the sincere expres-
sion of his own. The sweetness, the gentleness, the grace,
the purity of his verse were the image of his own soul.
But beautiful and ample as this expression of himself was,
it fell short of the truth. The man was more and better
than the poet.
Intimate, however, as was the concord between the poet
and his poetry, there was much in him to which he never
gave utterance in words. He was a man of deep reserves.
He kept the holy of holies within himself inviolable and
secluded. Seldom does he admit his readers to even its
outward precincts. The deepest experiences of life are too
sacred to be shared with any one whatsoever. " There are
things of which I may not speak," he says in one of the
most personal of his poems.
" Whose hand shall dare to open and explore
Those volumes closed and clasped forevermore ?
Not mine. With reverential feet I pass."
It was the felicity of Mr. Longfellow to share the senti-
ment and emotion of his coevals, and to succeed in giving
to them their apt poetic expression. It was not by depth
of thought or by original views of nature that he won his
place in the world's regard ; but it was by sympathy with
the feelings common to good men and women everywhere,
and by the simple, direct, sincere, and delicate expression
of them, that he gained the affection of mankind.
He was fortunate in the time of his birth. He grew up
in the morning of our Eepublic. He shared in the cheer-
fulness of the early hour, in its hopefulness, its confidence.
The years of his youth and early manhood coincided with
an exceptional moment of national life, in which a pros-
perous and unembarrassed democracy was learning its own
capacities and was beginning to realize its large and novel
resources ; in which the order of society was still simple
TRIBUTES. 369
and humane. He became, more than any one else, the
voice of this epoch of national progress, — an epoch of un-
exampled prosperity for the masses of mankind in our New-
World, prosperity from which sprang a sense, more general
and deeper than had ever before been felt, of human kind-
ness and brotherhood. But, even to the prosperous, life
brings its inevitable burden. Trial, sorrow, misfortune,
are not to be escaped by the happiest of men. The deep-
est experiences of each individual are the experiences com-
mon to the whole race. And it is this double aspect of
American life — its novel and happy conditions, with the
genial spirit resulting from them, and, at the same time,
its subjection to the old, absolute, universal laws of exist-
ence— that finds its mirror and manifestation in Long-
fellow's poetry.
No one can read his poetry without a conviction of the
simplicity, tenderness, and humanity of the poet. And we
who were his friends know how these qualities shone in
his daily conversation. Praise, applause, flattery, — and
no man ever was exposed to more of them, — never
touched him to harm him. He walked through their
flames unscathed, as Dante through the fires of purgatory.
His modesty was perfect. He accepted the praise as he
would have accepted any other pleasant gift, — glad of it
as an expression of good-will, but without personal ela-
tion. Indeed, he had too much of it, and often in an
absurd form, not to become at times weary of what his
own fame and virtues brought upon him. But his kindU-
ness did not permit him to show his weariness to those
who did but burden him with their admiration. It was
the penalty of his genius, and he accepted it with the
pleasantest temper and a humorous resignation. Bores of
all nations, especially of our own, persecuted him. His
long-suffering patience was a wonder to his friends; it
was, in truth, the sweetest charity. No man was ever
24
370 TRIBUTES.
before so kind to these moral mendicants. One day I
ventured to remonstrate with him on his endurance of
the persecutions of one of the worst of the class, who to
lack of modesty added lack of honesty, — a wretched crea-
ture; and when I had done, he looked at me with a
pleasant, reproving, humorous glance, and said, " Charles,
who would be kind to him if I were not ? " It was
enough. He was helped by a gift of humor which,
though seldom displayed in his poems, lighted up his talk
and added a charm to his intercourse. He was the most
gracious of men in his own home; he was fond of the
society of his friends, and the company that gathered in
his study or round his table took its tone from his own
genial, liberarl, cultivated, and refined nature.
" With loving breath of all the winds his name
Is blown about the world ; but to his friends
A sweeter secret hides behind his fame,
And love steals shyly through the loud acclaim
To murmur a God Mess you ! and there ends.''
His verse, his fame, are henceforth the precious posses-
sions of the people whom he loved so well. They will be
among the effective instruments in shaping the future
character of the nation. His spirit will continue to soften,
to refine, to elevate the hearts of men. He will be the
beloved friend of future generations as he has been of his
own. His desire will be gratified, —
" And in your life let my remembrance linger.
As something not to trouble and disturb it,
But to complete it, adding Ufe to hfe.
And if at times beside the evening fire
You see my face among the other faces.
Let it not be regarded as a ghost
That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you.
TRIBUTES. 371
LONGFELLOW IN ENGLAND, 1868.
An English greeting to the Bard who bears
His chaplet of sweet song from that far West
Where pine-woods, with their branches low depress'd,
Cease not lamenting to the scented airs
Tor Hiawatha as he disappears.
Swift sailing to the Islands of the Blest,
And for Evangeline, who, now at rest,
With our own Gertrude's self the amaranth shares.
Glad greeting ! for in many an English home
The poet's voice has pierced the silent night
With chants of high resolve, and joys that come
At Duty's summons ; then Hope's answering light,
Clear as the red star watching o'er the earth.
Glows forth afresh on life's rekindled hearth.
H. A. Beight.
CHAPTER XIX.
TABLE-TALK.
Mr. Longfellow, like other writers, was in the
habit of jotting down thoughts upon scraps of
paper. Many of these he used in his books, as in
Hyperion, and especially in Kavanagh, — where,
indeed, he has given a page or two of them, as
written by Mr. Churchill on the panels of the old
pulpit in his study. Others are printed as " Table-
Talk" in Drift-wood. A few of the unpublished
ones have been given in the previous pages under
the dates which were attached to them. Others
are inserted here.
Too many enthusiasts think all is safe because they
head right, — not mindful that the surest way of reaching
port is by following the channel, and not by going straight
across the sandbanks and the breakers.
He who carries his bricks to the building of every one's
house, will never build one for himself.
When looking for anything lost, begin by looking where
you think it is not.
Many critics are like woodpeckers, who, instead of en-
joying the fruit and shadow of a tree, hop incessantly
around the trunk, pecking holes in the bark to discover
some little worm or other.
TABLE-TALK. 373
All authors have some very judicious friends, who are
fearful they will get more than their due ; and when they
see the measure of applause heaped and running over,
dexterously sweep it down to a level.
There are conversations which make us suddenly old,
or rather, by which we discover ourselves to have moved
onward, far onward. Where we played in sunshine, we
sit in shadow. There are revelations made in moments of
intimacy which show us how great the changes of life are,
— flashes of lightning revealing to careless travellers the
precipice upon whose brink they stand.
Velocity and weight make the momentum of mind as
well as of matter. Velocity without weight is a melan-
choly condition of the human brain.
Sometimes a single felicitous expression or hne in a
poem saves it from oblivion. There are other poems in
which no individual lines or passages predominate. Like
Wagner's music, they are equally sustained throughout,
and depend for their effect upon their impression as a
whole, and not on particular parts. Which of these kinds
is the better is a question that should neither be asked
nor answered. Each is good in its way. We should be
thankful for both.
Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only
knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are
sure to wake up somebody.
There are but few thinkers in the world, but a great
many people who think they think.
A great part of the happiness of life consists not in
fighting battles, but in avoiding them. A masterly retreat
is in itself a victory.
374 TABLE-TALK.
A young critic is like a boy with a gun; lie fires at
every living thing he sees. He thinks only of his own
skill, not of the pain he is giving.
Amusements are Kke specie-payments. We do not
much care for them, if we know that we can have them ;
but we like to know they may be had.
In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on
which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth.
But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out
of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his
skiU.
Truths that startled the generation in which they were
first announced become in the next age the commonplaces
of conversation ; as the famous airs of operas which thrilled
the first audiences come to be played on hand-organs in
the streets.
In the intellectual world, as in the physical, the rays
that give light are not those that give heat.
Our " friends " are oftener those who seek us, than those
whom we seek.
Love makes its record upon our hearts in deeper and
deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood ;
as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when
under age, but when of age, in purple.
Shall there be no repose in literature? Shall every
author be like a gladiator with swollen veins and distended
nostrils, as if each encounter was for life or death ?
The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as
a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and
hands full of flowers.
TABLE-TALK. 375
The years come when the mind, like an old mill, ceases
to grind ; when weeds grow on the wall ; and through
every crack and leak in dam and sluice, spouts the useless
water.
Do the white marbles in churchyards mean that the
day of death has been marked by a white stone ?
So innate and strong is the love of liberty in all human
hearts that, even against our better judgment, we instinc-
tively sympathize with criminals escaping from prison.
The utility of many useful things is not at first very
manifest, — as poetry, for instance. Yet its uses are as
many and as sweet as those of adversity. When the first
kettle boiled, who imagined the manifold uses of steam ?
There are people in the world whom we Hke well
enough when we are with them, but whom we never miss
when they are gone. There are others whose absence is a
positive pain. There are people whose society we enjoy
for an hour, and never care to see again ; others who can-
not come too often, nor stay too long.
The happy should not insist too much upon their hap-
piness in the presence of the unhappy.
After all definitions and descriptions, there remains in
every book a certain something which defies analysis, and
is to it what expression is to the human face, — the best
part of it, which cannot be given by words.
Ferber, in his Travels through Italy, has observed that
" the stones employed in buildings, decorations, and pav-
ings are hints of the nature of the neighboring hills and
quarries." So an author's style, language, and illustrations
are hints of his surroundings, his favorite pursuits and
studies.
376 TABLE-TALK.
Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No
one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires.
In childhood all unaccustomed things fascinate us ; but
there comes a period in our lives when the unusual is dis-
agreeable and burdensome.
The imagination walks bravest, not in clouds, but on
the firm green earth. It conquers worlds by the sinewy
arms of thoughts that have been trained by sage reason
and common-sense, — as Alexander conquered Asia with
troops which his father Philip had disciplined.
Every village has its great man, who represents nobil-
ity, who walks down the village street with a cane, and
stands very erect as the stage-coach or the train passes,
and thinks the passengers are all looking at him and say-
ing to themselves, " Who can that remarkable-looking man
be ? Surely there must be good society in this place ! "
Nothing is more dangerous to an author than sudden
success. The patience of genius is one of its most pre-
cious attributes.
" It is not enough to be a great man," says the French
proverb, " but you must come at the right time." This
is particularly true of authors.
Every author has the whole past to contend with ; all
the centuries are upon him. He is compared with Homer,
Dante, Shakespeare, Milton.
Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth
in it ; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
It is a great mystery to many people that an author
should reveal to the public secrets that he shrinks from
telling to his most intimate friends.
TABLE-TALK. 377
Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the
crown on its own head before it is entitled to it.
Signs of old age are, — a tendency to cross your hands
on the top of a cane; a tendency to pick up pins from
the carpet ; a tendency in your hat to come down on the
back of your head; a disposition to sit stUl. When a
young man sees a mountain he says : " Let us climb it."
The old man says: "Let us stay down here."
A disposition to wear old clothes is one of the signs of
old age.
Old men should not climb ladders, even in their libra-
ries. The Marques de Morante, a famous book-coUector
of Spain, was killed by a fall from a ladder in his library.
The sentence of the first murderer was pronounced by
the Supreme Judge of the universe. Was it death ? No,
it was life. "A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in
the earth;" and "Whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall
be taken on him sevenfold."
Some sorrows are but footprints in the snow, which the
genial sun effaces, or, if it does not wholly efface, changes
into dimples.
More and more do I feel, as I advance in life, how little
we really know of each other. Friendship seems to me
like the touch of musical-glasses, — it is only contact ;
but the glasses themselves, and their contents, remain quite
distinct and unmingled.
If a woman shows too often the Medusa's head, she
must not be astonished if her lover is turned into stone.
Unmarried men are not columns, only pilasters, or half-
columns.
378 TABLE-TALK.
As oaks shoot up where pine-woods have been burned,
so great resolves spring up when youthful passions have
burned out, or where the ceasing of overshadowing cares lets
in the sunshine upon the buried seed.
How sudden and sweet are the visitations of our hap-
piest thoughts ; what delightful surprises ! In the midst
of life's most trivial occupations, — as we are reading a
newspaper, or lighting our bed-candle, or waiting for our
horses to drive round, — the lovely face appears; and
thoughts more precious than gold are whispered in our
ear.
Some poets ought to be punished by the laws of the
land for the contamination of their verses, — as Pheres,
son of Medea, was stoned to death by the Corinthians for
giving poisonous clothes to Creon's daughter.
Those poets who make vice beautiful with the beauty
of their song are like the Byzantine artists who painted
the Devil with a nimbus.
Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily
with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may
starve; but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit
will fall for us.
When an author is entering the dreary confines of old
age, and the critics begin to cry, " Go up, bald head ! " it is
not strange that he should want to let the bears loose
upon them.
The highest exercise of imagination is not to devise what
has no existence, but rather to perceive what really exists,
though unseen by the outward eye, — not creation, but
insight.
TABLE-TALK. 379
Genius 'is all-embracing. When at full speed on its
winged courser, like the wild Arab, it stoops to pick up a
pebbla
Style is the gait of the mind, and is as much a part of a
man as his bodily gait is.
Silence is a great peacemaker.
Some poems are like the Centaurs, — a mingling of
man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.
The difference between a man of genius seen in his
works and in person, is like that of a lighthouse seen by
night and by day, — in the one case only a great fiery
brain, in the other only a white tower.
There are no critics who resemble the old Florentine
judge. Lotto degli Agli ; for he hung himself in despair for
having pronounced an unjust sentence.
" Be it known to each one," says Dante in his Oonvito,
i. 7, " that nothing harmonized by a musical bond can be
transferred from its native language into another without
breaking all its sweetness and harmony." Of the same
opinion was Cervantes, when he makes the Curate say of
the Spanish translator of Ariosto : " He took from him
much of his natural value ; and all will do the like who
endeavor to translate books of verse into another language :
for however great the care taken and the ability displayed,
they will never reach the point they have in their first
birth." — Bon Quixote, i. 6.
The difficulty of translation lies chiefly in the color of
words. Is the Italian " rusqplletto gorgoglioso " fully
rendered by "gurgling brooklet"? Or the Spanish
"pajaros vocingleros" by "garrulous birds"? Some-
thing seems wanting. Perhaps it is only the fascina-
380 TABLE-TALK.
tion of foreign and unfamiliar sounds ; and to the Italian
or Spanish ear the English words may seem equally
beautiful.
Translating the first line in the Divine Comedy is like
making the first move in a game of chess ; nearly every
one does it in the same way.
The business of a translator is to report what his author
says, not to explain what he means ; that is the work of
the commentator. What an author says and how he says
it, — that is the problem of the translator.
We know that we are old before we feel it. The lan-
guage of those around us betrays to us the secret. Life is
a landscape without hedge or fence. We pass from one
field to another, and see no boundary-line.
When I recall my juvenile poems and prose sketches,
I wish sometimes that they were forgotten entirely.
They however cling to one's skirts with a terrible grasp.
They remind me of the " plusieurs enfants " in M. de Pour-
ceaugnac, clinging to him in the street and crying, " Ah !
mon papa ! mon papa! mon papa ! "
The breath of an audience is very apt to blow one's
thoughts quite away, as a gust through an open window
does the loose papers on a table.
How often it happens that after we know a man per-
sonally, we cease to read his writings. Is it that we
exhaust him by a look ? Is it that his personality gives
us all of him that we desire ?
A story or a poem should be neither too short nor too
long ; it should be enough to satisfy, but not enough to
satiate. I have always aimed to have my books small.
TABLE-TALK. 381
A volume of poems ought never to be large. Eeal
estate on Mount Parnassus should be sold by the foot,
not by the acre.
There are many landscapes which fascinate us at first
sight, and suggest a long stay, a lifelong sojourn ; causing
us to say, " It is good for us to be here ; let us build."
I have always looked upon the writing of autobiog-
raphy as a harmless occupation, and have never felt that
it implied any excess of self-conceit in the writer. In
the lives of most men there are many things which, if
truthfully stated, partake of the nature of confessions, and
tend rather to mortify than to flatter their self-conceit.
When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows
are cast behind us.
I have many opinions in Art and Literature which con-
stantly recur to me in the tender guise of a sentiment. A
clever dialectician can prove to me that I am wrong. I
cannot answer him. I let the waves of argument roll on ;
but all the lilies rise again, and are beautiful as before.
Eather cheerless is the aspect of our early history. The
stern old puritanical character rises above the common
level of life ; it has a breezy air about its summits, but
they are bleak and forbidding.
In youth all doors open outward ; in old age they all
open inward.
The Americans are not thrifty, but spendthrifty.
A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the
sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we
are on the sea of life.
382 TABLE-TALK.
Each new epoch of life seems an encounter. There is
a tussle and a cloud of dust, and we come out of it
triumphant or crest-fallen, according as we have home
ourselves.
The mission of some people on earth is not that of the
sunshine, but of the twilight, — the twilight, with its
reveries, its reflections, its ghosts.
What discord should we bring into the universe if our
prayers were all answered ! Then we should govern the
world, and not God. And do you think we should govern
it better ? It gives me only pain when I hear the long,
wearisome petitions of men asking for they know not
what. As frightened women clutch at the reins when
there is danger, so do we grasp at God's government
with our prayers. Thanksgiving with a full heart, — and
the rest silence and submission to the Divine will !
CHAPTER XX.
FEAGMENTS OF VEESE.
In this chapter are gathered some unpublished
bits of verse and a few tran^ations from the Greek
Anthology, etc.
GREAT AND SMALL.
.The Power that built the starry dome on high,
And groined the vaulted rafters of the sky,
Teaches the linnet with unconscious breast
To round the inverted heaven of her nest.
To that mysterious Power which governs all,
Is neither high nor low, nor great nor small.
THOUGHT AND SPEECH.
Sudden from' out the cannon's brazen lips
The level smoke runs shining in the sun,
While the invisible and silent ball
Outruns it in its speed, and does its work
Unseen and far away. So from the sound
And smoke of human speech the thought runs forward.
Doing its work unseen and far away.
REEORMERS.
Something must be forgiven to great Eeformers, —
The prophets of a fair new-world to be.
They cannot see the glory of the Past,
As men who walk with faces to the East
See not the glory of the setting sun.
384 FRAGMENTS OF VERSE.
EGYPT.
I see it in a vision, in the dark, —
The river, the great river, flowing, flowing
Forever through the shadowless, white land.
Upon its banks the gods of Abou Simbel
Sit patient, with their hands upon their knees.
And listen to the voice of cataracts.
And seem to say : " Why hurry with such speed ?
Eternity is long ; the gods can wait ;
Wait, wait like us ! " Along the river shores
The red flamingoes stand ; and over them
Against the sky dark caravans of camels
Pass underneath the palm-trees, and are gone.
LEAVES.
Eed leaves ! dead leaves ! that from the forest-trees.
Cradled in air a moment, fall and die,
Or float upon the surface of a brook, —
0 Songs of mine ! what are ye more than these ?
What are ye more than Autumn leaves that lie ,
Gathered and pressed together in a book ?
QUATRAIN.
Why waste the hours in idle talk,
When life is short, and time is flying ?
Why interrupt my work or walk.
Since while we 're living, we are dying ?
TWELETH-NIGHT.i
Last night this room was full of sport.
For here, amid her train advancing,
The Queen of Twelfth-Night held her court,
With music, merriment, and dancing.
1 In his Journal, March 6, 1857, Mr. Longfellow speaks of "a
Twelfth-Night party for H. and her schoolmates, — a sleigh full of
FRAGMENTS OF VERSE. 385
Upon this Spanish convent chair
The lovely maiden queen was seated ;
A crown of flowers was in her hair,
And kneeling youths their sovereign greeted.
The busts of Grecian bards sublime
Smiled from their antique oaken cases,
As if they saw renewed the time
Of all the Muses and the Graces.
And the old Poets on their shelves.
Awaking from their dusty slumbers,
Eecalled what they had sung themselves
Of Youth and Beauty in their numbers.
And round the merry dancers whirled
Beneath the evergreens and holly, —
A world of youth, a happy world,
That banished care and melancholy.
Now all is changed ; the guests have fled.
The joyous guests, the merry-hearted.
Ah, me ! the room itself seems dead.
Since so much youth and life departed !
FROM THE ANTHOLOGY.
III. 100.
Here Dionysius of Tarsus, the Sexagenarian, lieth ;
He never married a wife, — would that my father had
not !
schoolgirls, and young men from college. The evening passed
pleasantly with dances, and rings in the cake, and king and queen."
The party was given in the library of Craigie House, which is de-
scribed in the verses above.
26
386 FRAGMENTS OP VERSE.
IV. 150.
Eros, beholding the bolts of the thunder, broke them in
pieces ;
Showing that Love is a fire, stronger than fire itself.
FROM PLATO.
Lookest thou at the stars, 0 Stella? Were I but the
heaven,
With all the eyes of heaven would I look down upon thee.
FROM PLATO.
Thou as the morning star among the living resplendent.
Dead among the dead, shinest as Hesperus now.
FROM SAPPHO.
Over the grave of PeMgon the fisher, his father Meniscos
Hung his net and his oar, — signs of his wearisome life.
FROM
Take, 0 friendly Earth, old Amintikos into thy bosom,
Mindful of all the fatigue that he hath suffered for thee ;
For he hath cultured for thee unceasing the trunks of the
olive,
And with Bromius' vines hath he embellished thee oft.
Clothed thee hath he with grain, and digging channels for
water.
Made thee fit for the plough, made thee the bearer of
fruits.
Therefore, for what he hath done for thee, do thou too,
benignant.
Cover his hoary head ; blossom with flowers of spring.
FROM OALLIMACHUS.
Here in a holy sleep the son of Akanthian Dicon,
Saon, slumbers in peace ; say not the good ever die.
FRAGMENTS OP VERSE. 387
ARABIC PROVERBS.
Not the stream that has passed, but only that which is pass-
ing,
Turns the wheel of the mill, grinds for the miller his
corn.
If thy friend is of honey, thou should'st not wholly devour
him.
Many things bitter as gall in this bitter life I have tasted ;
But the most bitter of all is of a miser to beg.
Studious age at best but writes on the sand of the desert ;
But a studious youth carves his inscription on stone.
When a word has been uttered, it straightway becometh thy
master ;
While it unspoken remains, thou art the master of it.
If in this life thou must serve as an anvil, endure and be
patient ;
If the hammer thou art, strong be thy blows and direct.
CHAPTER XXI.
BELATED LETTEKS.
The four letters which immediately follow
have come to hand too late to be inserted under
their proper dates; but the reader may be glad
not to lose them. Advantage is taken of the
opportunity to add a dozen others which had
been overlooked.
To 0. W. Holmes.
November 28, 1848.
I had half a mind yesterday, when I received your vol-
ume, to practise upon you the old General Washington
dodge — pardon the irreverential word — of thanking the
donor before reading the book. But, unluckily for my
plot, I happened to get my finger between the leaves, as
Mr. Alworthy got his into the hand of Tom Jones, and
felt the warm, soft pressure ; and it was all over with me.
My wife, coming in at this juncture of affairs, was in like
manner caught ; and we sat and read all the afternoon, tiU
we had gone over all the new, and most of the old, which
is as good as new, and finally drained " the punch-bowl "
between us, and shared the glass of cold water which
serves as cul-de-lampe to the volume, and said, '' It is
divine ! "
BELATED LETTEKS. 389
Take tliy place, 0 poet, among the truest, the wittiest,
the tenderest, among the
" bards that sung
Divine ideas below,
That always find us young,
And always keep us so.''
This is the desire and prophecy of your friend.
To 0. W. Holmes.
October 28, 1850.
I thank you a thousand times for your Poem, which I
have read with great pleasure, and with that tingling
along the veins which is the sure indication of poetic
electricity in the atmosphere of a book. Whenever you
fly a look you bring it down, as Franklin did when flying
his kite. It is lightning from the air, and not galvanism
from earthly acids.
Do you know, I see the Pittsfield farm in your book, —
not exactly " hay in your hair," but buckwheat in your
laurels, which I much delight to see. These blossoms
from the roadside and odor of pennyroyal give a freshness
to poems which nothing else will. I hope one day to
turn a portion of the Housatonic — what runs over your
dam above — on to my mill-wheels. But " when the ques-
tion is made by quando, time is put in the ablative ; as,
venit hord tertid."
At all hours, however, yours truly and faithfully.
To ft W. Holmes.
April 23, 1852.
Before receiving your note I had already returned the
inexorable No to the song of the Albanian sirens. In all
such cases I resolutely lash myself to the mast, shut my
390 BELATED LETTERS.
eyes and ears ; and I have thus far escaped being turned
into a — critic. This time, however, if I had been going
for the summer to Berkshire instead of Newport, I think
I should have accepted, for the sake of working with you.
But on the Separate System and in the solitary cell, I
see no promise of pleasure in the task.
To 0. W. Holmes.
December 6, 1875.
Credo quia impossibile est. We take our feeble vision
for the gauge of Nature. What we see, we believe ; what
we do not see, we doubt : and how foolish we are ! I will
never hereafter doubt the impossible possibilities of the
unseen. These revelations of the microscope are perfectly
astounding. Some day you must show them to me.
Ah ! my dear Doctor, if you would only apply these
lenses to the materia medica, perhaps the microscopic dose
might be magnified into some importance in your eyes.
Secrets of Nature discovered in one direction suggest
secrets discoverable in all directions.
With all my absurd credulities and incredulities.
Always affectionately yours.
From Henry Taylor.^
Colonial Office, London, December 31, 1851.
Sir, — T have been much flattered and obliged by your
kindness in sending me the Golden Legend ; and I should
have said so before, had I not wished to read it more than
once before I wrote to you about it. I read it as soon as
I received it ; but I have since lent it to Alfred Tennyson,
which has prevented me from returning to it. My first
1 Author of Philip van Artevelde, etc.
BELATED LETTERS. 391
impression — and I think I may trust to it — was one of
very great pleasure and admiration ; and it appeared to
me that I had never read a poem in which our language
was treated with more force and ease, more poetic feel-
ing and rhythmic effect. If you should see Mr. Ever-
ett or Mr. Ticknor, will you remember me to them very
kindly.
Believe me your& very faithfully,
H. Tayloe.
To Nathaniel Sawthorne.
September 21, 1852,
I write you this " Scarlet Letter " ^ in order to present
two readers and admirers of your books, Mr. Bright, of
Liverpool, and Mr. Burder, of London, wba go to Concord
expressly to see you and Emerson.
Dr. Morse, in his Gazetteer, speaking of Albany, says it
" contains six btmdred houses and ten thousand inhabi-
tants;'' then adds, "they all stand with their gable-ends
to the street, — a custom they brought with them from
Holland."
Now your fame stands with "Seven Gables" to the
street; and in one of these I am sure my young friends
from England will find a door and a welcome.^
From R W. Procter?
London, July 17, 1853.
Deae Me. Longfellow, — Your letters are always wel-
come to me ; I wish I could repay you in a just measure.
But, alas ! my news would be almost all from the public
prints, — which detail it much better than I should do, —
^ A stationer's stamp in red was in the comer of the sheet.
^ The House of the Seven Gables was published in 1851.
* Barry Cornwall.
392 BELATED LETTERS.
and I have no adven,tures. I wish that I dared attack a
windmill for you, — ^but they are too strong for me (when
the wind is nor'-nor'west) ; or a dragon, — but they are
extinct.
When I received your letter I was unwell, and just
about to leave London on one of my circuits. I had
barely time to scribble a melancholy acknowledgment of
having received some books from our friend Fields before
I set steam for Leicestershire, — a great hunting-ground,
where nobody hunts at present (not even the pale-faces),
and where a lecture on our Low Church by the Eeverend
Dr. C. appears to be the only evening's recreation. You
may guess with what a refreshment of the intellect I
have returned to London.
You who are safe from all European mishaps will care
but little, I suppose, for the great Euss and Turk ques-
tion which shakes our stocks in the Old World, and
excites our apprehensions a little also. I wish we could
" hear the excluded tempest idly rave ; " but we are
mixed up in the great game which is playing on our
side of the globe, — a game in which we often conquer,
but never win.
Let us turn our minds to books.
You will have heard that Thackeray is about to publish
a new "serial," as our critics call it, and that the first
number will probably come out in October. He is gone
travelliug on the Continent with his children for a while,
so that I have had no opportunity of inquiring as to its
nature. It will be a web of the usual chequered pattern,
I suppose. The Life of Haydon, the painter, just out, is
well worth a perusal. As a study of character, it is the
best he ever painted. I knew Haydon, who was of the
composite order. He had a good deal of real enthusiasm,
inordinate vanity, envy and hatred of rivals, good-nature
for those below him. An unscrupulous borrower, a bor-
BELATED LETTERS. 393
rower without the chance of repayment, but devoting all
his gains to his wife and children ; a stormy advocate for
the advancement of art in general, but always with an
eye to his own interest. He exhibited for years an un-
conquerable energy — amidst difficulties and distresses
that would have driven mad ninety-nine men out of a
hundred — which cannot be* contemplated without some
admiration. His troubles of all sorts, almost daily, with
the sheriffs officer in one room (he makes a study of
the man's arm while in possession), and the butcher and
baker clamoring for payment in another, depress me as I
read of them.
We have nothing new in poetry lately. A book by a
young man of the name of Alexander Smith seems to con-
tain some very good bits ; but one of our critics says that
there is no continuous power in it, and that it is full of
absurdities, and its merits fragmentary only. I have not
read it.
Hawthorne has not yet arrived, I believe ; ^ I rejoiced to
find that so good an appointment had fallen to his lot.
He is not the man to bruit his own pretensions. I trust
that the goddess — if there be such a goddess — who pro-
tects modest authors will advance her shield before him
as he traverses the wilderness toward the setting sun.
Fortunately the setting sun is, for him, a long way off.
I wish that I were not so near him, although he looks all
the grander as I come near. Considering my proximity
to this luminary, I have once or twice thought of giving
up the rhyming trade ; but your letters encourage me to
go on. You, who are younger and more popular, are
without doubt in the middle of your next epic. I shall
listen with pleasure to your long strain, although I may
only twitter a little myself. . . .
1 To take the Liverpool consubhip.
394 BELATED LETTERS.
Farewell ! the plumage drops from off my wing ;
Life and its humbler tasks henceforth are mine.
The lark no longer down from, heaven may bring
That music which ia youth I thought divine.
The winds are mute ; the river dares not sing;
Time lifts his hand, — and I obey the sign !
I wonder whether I shall ever see you. I have la-
mented very often that I missed you when you came to
the old country [in 1842]. When shall you come again ?
I have told Fields repeatedly that as soon as Americans
build a bridge over that great herring-pond which lies
between us, I shall come and beat up his quarters in
America. Believe me to be yours ever sincerely,
B. W. Peoctee.
From T, Q. Ajppleton.
[Without date.]
Deae Heney, — I met lately Mr. P. at my publishers',
and he told me of a new book of his. I send you a New
York review of it. It is nice to see these fellows ven-
ture into the ink- stream and get so spattered. The
book is a good book, too, — following out those spider-
threads of instinct which are lost in the sky, and not too
much losing hold of his web. I dare say he will now,
like poor , go into retirement among the incompris
authors. The Duke of Somerset has a nice little book
which I have got, — only about a hundred pages, snug and
compact, and modest for a duke; also about the eternal
subject. There seems great soreness in the world at the
place where soul and body dovetail. An expression of
Mr. T. Lyman to me, years ago : " The bother of the
Yankee," said he, " is that he rubs badly at the junction
of soul and body." As true a thing as was ever said ;
and he not much of a sayer of such things. Yours,
T. G. Appleton.
BELATED LETTERS. 395
To Ernest Longfellow.
November 17, 1865.
We were all delighted last night by the arrival of your
interesting letter from London and Paris. It is pleasant
to know that you are seeing and enjoying so much. Your
account of the Horse-Guardsman is very comic, and that of
Carlyle very amusing. . . . Mr. Greene is here, and takes
great interest in your travels. He is particularly glad
that you climbed the Cote d'Angouville at Havre ; and so
am I. The view repays one for the toil, as I remember
well. We are now in the midst of the hottest of Indian
summers. I only hope you are having as pleasant
weather amid the gardens and groves in the environs of
Paris. Is it not a splendid city? . . .
There is nothing new here in the old house except a
cuckoo-clock, which when it strikes in the night alarms
the household. Mr. Greene started up, thinking one of
the children had the croup. It is very droll. The Cam-
bridge Assemblies have begun, and you are wanted. To
enliven the winter, I have formed a Dante Club, consist-
ing of Lowell, Norton, and myself, meeting here every
Wednesday evening, with a good deal of talk and a little
supper. So we try to get along without you and your
uncle ; but we miss you nevertheless. Trap [the Scotch
terrier] sends his regards. His last misdemeanor was
stealing a partridge from the supper-table of the Club.
That was his view of the Divine Comedy! Of your other
friends in Cambridge I see nothing. Nobody comes to
play billiards. Your room is now occupied by E., as the
ofi&ce of The Secret.^ On the door is " No Adt^mittance."
1 A manuscript monthly, carried on by the little girls of the
family.
396 BELATED LETTERS.
To Ernest Longfellow.
January 17, 1866.
In Dante's Paradiso, canto x., a French professor is
spoken of thus: —
" This is the light eternal of Sigier,
Who, reading lectures in the Street of Straw,
Did syllogize invidious verities."
The "Street of Straw" is the Eue du Fouarre, near the
Place Maubert, and got its name from the fact that the
students used to sit on bundles of straw at their lectures,
or because it was a hay-market, or probably from both. I
want you and your uncle to hunt up this old street and
tell me how it looks now ; I want something to make a
note oi} Look up also the H6tel Carnavalet, in the Eue
Culture-St. Catherine. That is where Mme. de Sdvign^
lived and wrote her famous letters. In fine, I advise you
to buy a book called Les Hues de Paris, by Louis Lurine.
You will find a good deal of curious matter and curious
illustration in it.
It would be rather difficult to say what books I should
like, not having a peep at the bookstalls. But I will
name two, — Qudrard, all his bibliographical works ; and
Vapereau, who publishes every year a review of the litera-
ture of the previous years. These you may get, at all
events. As soon as the first flower blooms and the first
bird sings, if not sooner, you will no doubt break up your
winter quarters and move southward to meet the spring.
That will be pleasant, and make up for the dull weather
of Paris.
I have kept this page for Cambridge news, and none
comes to hand. Now that you have gone away, nothing
happens ; and I have not been much in the way if it did.
1 See note to Paradise, canto x., line 137, in Mr. Longfellow's
translation.
BELATED LETTERS. 397
I send you, therefore, now and then a newspaper ; and by
to-day's mail the Advertiser, with an article by "Tom
Brown" (Mr. Hughes), on American affairs, which wUl
interest you, as he makes honorable mention of Charles.
C. got back to-day from Montreal. He has brought home
blanket-coats and moccasins enough to furnish a small
shop. What a time the moths will have next summer !
I have just stopped to do a deed of charity for you ;
namely, to give a pair of your shoes to a handsome Italian
boy who came here barefoot in the ice and snow. He
says he has had no shoes all winter.
To H. I. Bowditch}
March 23, 1866.
. . . The poem you speak of was not a record of any
one event which came to my knowledge, but of many
which came to my imagination. It is an attempt to ex-
press something of the inexpressible sympathy which I
feel for the death of the young men in the war, which
makes my heart bleed whenever I think of it.
How much I have felt for you I cannot teU you, par-
ticularly on that cold December night when I came back
with my son, and saw you at the station and knew that
yours would come back to you no more.
Pardon me for touchiag that wound; it is only that I
may tell you how deep the impression is. It was from
such impressions that the poem came to my mind.
To G. W. Greem.
February 7, 1867.
I fear you must decide the matter for yourself; no
one can decide for you. For myself, I think I should not
1 In answer to a letter from him asking whether the poem ' Killed
at the Ford' referred to any particular person.
398 BELATED LETTERS.
send the letter. Porbearance brings a certain comfort
with it. Anything like vengeance brings dissatisfaction.
You have been harshly treated. is in the wrong;
and I think he feels it. "Wait !
I have been working very hard this last week, and
have almost re-written the New England Tragedy in verse.
Only two oi- three scenes remain. It is greatly improved,
though it is not yet what I mean it shall be. This has
absorbed me day and night, and put me into better spirits.
Happy the man who has something to do — and does it !
February 18.
A month ago I felt as if I should never write another
line. And lo ! since then I have written a Tragedy, and
am half way through with another. That is the reason I
have not written you. 1 have written two whole scenes
to-day ; one of them the most important of all.
From Victor Hugo.
Haute viLLE House, 22 avril, 1867.
Monsieur et chbe Conferee, — J'ai recu le beau livre
que vous m'envoyez. Vous ^tes un des hommes qui ho-
norent la grande Am^rique. Vous donnez la podsie k
cette terre qui a la liberty. Je vous remercie, et je
suis heureux de serrer dans ma vieille main franqaise
la jeune main amMcaine.
Croyez k ma vive cordiality,
Victor Hugo.
To 0. W. Greene.
Nahant, June 19, 1867.
... I had got thus far when Senator Sumner came to
dinner, in the quiet old way. After dinner we went to
see Palfrey, and then loitered through the College grounds
BELATED LETTERS. 399
and looked at old familiar windows painted with sunset
and memories of youth ; and the senator moralized there-
upon and sighed. . . . Come for a day or two — next week,
say. You need not lose much time by the movement, and
we will discuss " a good many things besides the Ehenish."
I am reading Walpole's Letters. The clever wag ! how
pleasantly he writes, though rather self-conscious in
style.
To G. W. Greene.
Nahant, September 4, 1867.
I have this morning received your letter, which says
so much in so few words. It is very sad. Knowing what
that sorrow is, I deeply sympathize with you and your
wife. No one who has not undergone such a bereave-
ment can have any idea of the keenness of the affliction
that has fallen upon you. I cannot console you, I can
only feel for you and with you. Such ploughshares do
not go over us for naught; they turn up the deepest
parts of our natures, and make us more akin to all who
have suffered. I hope you will all have strength to bear
it ; but it is hard to bear.
To G. W. Greene.
May 5, 1868.
I am sorry that you are not here this week, as it
presents unusual attractions in the way of moonlight,
mist, and music. Every day an oratorio, and every
night a concert. On Friday afternoon Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony !
All- my preparations are completed for the voyage ;
and, strange to say, I begin to think the life at sea will
be very agreeable. Come as soon as you can.
400 BELATED LETTERS.
To G. W. Greene.
March 27, 1881.
I hasten to answer your questions as well as I can,
and as briefly.
My first French teacher in my boyhood was, I think,
an Italian [Nolcini]. The second, also in Portland, a
German. In college, plodding on by myself, I remember
reading Mme. de Genlis's Silge de Roehelle. I never knew
how the professorship [at Bowdoin] was brought about ;
only that it was offered to me, to my great surprise and
delight. I made no acquaintances in Paris [iu 1826]
among the French, but Lafayette and Mme. de Sailly,
sister of Berryer the orator. ^ I worked at French with
Levizac's Grammar, the Dictionary of Boniface, and the
Memoires de Sully, among other books no longer remem-
bered. I did not much frequent the theatres or operas,
but went once or twice to all the principal ones. Nor
was I much of a sight-seer. My chief companions in
Paris were Pierre Irving, David Berdan, and my cousin.
Dr. Storer.
^ And daughter of Berryer the advocate. Mr. Longfellow had
forgotten, after so many years, two French gentlemen of whom he
speaks in one of his letters from Paris in 1826. A detailed account
has heen published of an acquaintance made at that time with Jules
Janin ; hut there is certainly some mistake about this, as Mr. Long-
fellow nowhere mentions it in any journal or letter at the time or
afterward. He could not well have forgotten it ; and when he de-
scribes his visit to Janin in 1842 there is no hint of any previous
acquaintance.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE STUDY AT CKAIGIE HOUSE.i
I PASSED an hour or two lately within the familiar
walls of Longfellow's study. The room is on the ground
floor at the right of the entrance. It is large and square,
and the walls on three sides are covered above the white
wainscot with paper of a soft brown tint. The fourth side
is wainscoted to the ceiling in the " colonial " style, and in
the spacious panel above the fireplace is a fine old round
convex mirror with two sconces, reflecting in miniature all
the interior and much even of what lies without beyond
the dark-red curtains that shade the deep windows.
Through these one looks across the open field and the
meadows where winds, with an occasional gleam of flash-
ing water, the Charles, the " Silent River " of the poet's
song, to the long, low hills of Brighton and Brookline.
It was this quiet view that met the poei's eye if he
but turned his head while he wrote at the high desk
which has always stood upon the table near the corner
front window. Here many of the familiar lines were first
put upon paper, many letters written, and a considerable
part of the translation of Dante. On this desk stands
a plaster statuette of Goethe, representing him in a long
greatcoat, with his hands folded behind him. Near by,
on the seat in the window, is a plain little wicker basket
that was once Thomas Moore's waste-paper basket ; and
1 By W. M. Fullerton, reprinted, with revision, from the Sunday
Record.
26
402 THE STUDY AT CRAIGIE HOUSE.
close at hand in the corner ticks the tall old-fashioned WU-
lard clock. In the other front window stands an orange-
tree, guarded by a bronze stork. Between the two windows
is a carved oaken bookcase of antique style, surmounted
by a bust of Shakespeare, and containing perhaps a hun-
dred books. These are the earliest and latest editions of
Mr. Longfellow's works, with some others ; and, in thirty
bound volumes, all Mr. Longfellow's manuscripts just
as they came back from the printer. Over these one
might spend hours tracing the development of the poet's
thought in his additions, corrections, and erasures. One
that I took up at random contained the review of Haw-
thorne's first book, Twice-Told Tales, and is written, with
few corrections, in that easy, flowing back-hand which was
characteristic of the poet during almost his entire liEe.
There are four other bookcases m the study, of the
same massive style, besides the shelves that fill the recess
of a window on the left-hand side of the room and con-
tain, for the most part, the English poets and dramatists.
Two of the bookcases stand on either side of the door as
one enters from the hall, and two are at the back of the
room, with the fireplace and the round mirror between
them. They all contain fine editions of familiar authors
in handsome bindings, but do not afford, either in num-
ber or character, more than a suggestion of the large and
valuable collection of books which the house contains
from bottom to top, and in almost every room.
In the study itself there are several extremely interest-
ing first editions and authors' copies which the bibliophile
would delight in. Here, for example, is the first edition
of "Poems by Mr. Gray," the rare 1832 edition of Tenny-
son's poems, and the slender volume in board covers of
" Poems by William CuUen Bryant," printed in 1821 at
Cambridge, and containing in its forty -four pages so much
that is really best in Bryant's work, — the Unes 'To
THE STUDY AT CRAIGIE HOUSE. 403
a Waterfowl,' the ' Inscription for the Entrance into a
Wood,' 'Green Eiver,' and 'Thanatopsis.' Here, also, is
the first edition of Coleridge's "Sibylline Leaves," with
many manuscript notes by himself and by his nephew.
Among them is a most interesting emendation of ' The
Ancient Mariner.' After the lines, —
" The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done ! I 've won, I 've won 1'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice," —
comes the following stanza, opposite which, in pencil in the
margin, are the words : " To be struck out. S. T. C." : —
" A gust of wind sterte up behind
And whistled through his bones;
Through the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth,
HaK whistles and half groans.''
This volume contains the fine poem 'America to Great
Britain,' with this note in Coleridge's hand : " By Wash-
ington AUston, a Painter born to renew the fifteenth
century."
In the bookcase at the left of the door as one enters
from the hall stand the three handsome octavos of the
Works of Chatterton, — the first fine book which the poet
owned. They represented the recompense of a year's
writing of verse while he was a student at Bowdoin. A
small ante-room, in the left-hand corner opposite the door,
holds a notable collection of splendid vellum-bound foHos
of the Italian poets, some of them in the superb Bodoni
type. Here also are the three great volumes of Lord
Vernon's famous critical edition of Dante's Inferno, with
its abundant illustrations, and the Dutch translation of
the Bivina Commedia in two large volumes. A book-
case in this ante-room is filled with various editions of
Mr. Longfellow's works, including over thirty translations
in different languages.
404 THE STUDY AT CRAIGIE HOUSE.
On the right of the fireplace is the well-known chair
given to the poet by the children of Cambridge; and
opposite, across the rug in front of the fire, is the deep
arm-chair in which, without eyes, in the evening, much of
' Evangeline ' was written in pencil, in an almost illeg-
ible hand, to be copied out next morning. This chair was
a favorite seat of Charles Sumner also, to whose length of
limb its depth was well fitted. In the bookcase in front
of which it stands are the Works of Sumner in fifteen
volumes, and his Life ; above hangs his portrait in crayon.
This is one of five portraits drawn in 1846 by Eastman
Johnson, at the beginning of his career, at Mr. Longfellow's
request. The thoughtful refined face of Sumner gazes
pensively down upon the chair at the centre-table, where
his friend most often sat. Opposite, over a bookcase in
which is a photograph of the Severn portrait of Keats,
hangs the picture of Emerson's clearly cut features, with
the sweet smile about the mouth. Beyond, on the side
walj, is the face of Hawthorne, — not so successfully por-
trayed, perhaps, as the rest, but still looking much as he
must have looked as a young author, with the high, broad
forehead, the mass of hair, and the great, open eyes. Then,
on the same wall, beyond the books and the window near
to the corner, comes the portrait of Felton, with a happy
and scholarly expression, — the very face of him whom
Dickens called " heartiest of Greek professors." Long-
fellow's own portrait is at the right of the door leading
into the hall, near the orange-tree. These fine crayons are
most interesting, from the fact that they show the faces
of all in their earlier manhood. Sumner seems to have
changed most of all, in the conflict of the bravely fought
battle of his life. A portrait of Longfellow in oils, by his
son Ernest, stands upon an easel in one corner.
On the eastern wall, high up on a bracket at the top of
an ancient mirror, is a statuette of Dante. Below is an
THE STUDY AT CRAIGIE HOUSE. 405
old-fashioned table, on which stands Crawford's bust of
the poet's life-long friend, George W. Greene. The lower
part of it is hidden by a small Italian casket, which con-
tains, some fragments of the coffin of Dante in a little
glass box, and a minute edition of the Divina Commedia.
Seen through the window at the right, is the spacious
veranda, where the poet speaks often, in his journal, of
walking. On the round table in the centre of the room,
among the books and pamphlets, is the inkstand that
once belonged to Coleridge, beside that of Thomas Moore
and Longfellow's own; and by the side of the last are
four or five quill pens — he used no other kind — that
once were eloquent with song.
Here, then, is the room sacred to the Muses almost
above all others on American soil. Here may be breathed
the " stUl air of delightful studies." The favorite motto
of the poet, Non clamor, sed amor, seems to be the burden
of every tick of the clock. Time lingers within these
walls as it does along the ridges of the hUls in an August
afternoon, and every suggestion is one of restfulness
and peace. And in this quiet it may be fitting to read,
from this white-covered volume on the table, Austin
Dobson's tribute to
HENRY WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW.
Nee turpem senectam
Vegere, nee eithara earenteviA
Horace.
" Not to be tuneless in old age ! "
Ah ! surely blest his pilgrimage
Who, in his Winter's snow,
Still sings with note, with note as sweet and clear
As in the morning of the year
When the first violets blow !
1 This is the motto of Ultima Thule.
406 THE STUDY AT CRAIGIE HOUSE.
Blest ! — but more blest whom Summer's heat,
Whom Spring's impulsive stir and beat,
Have taught no feverish lure ;
Whose Muse, benignant and serene.
Still keeps his Autumn chaplet green
Because his verse is pure.
Lie calm, O white and 'laureate head !
Lie calm, 0 Dead, that art not dead,
Since from the voiceless grave
Thy voice shall speak to old and young
While song yet speaks an English tongue
By Charles' or Thamis' wave !
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MEMOEIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.i
On Saturday, March 2, 1884, at midday, the ceremony
of unveiling a bust of Longfellow took place ia Poets'
Comer, Westminster Abbey. It is the work of Mr.
Thomas Brock, A.E.A., and was executed by the desire
of some five hundred admirers of the American poet. It
stands on a bracket near the tomb of Chaucer, and between
the memorials to Cowley and Dryden.
Before the ceremony took place, a meeting of the sub-
scribers was held in the Jerusalem Chamber. In the
absence of Dean Bradley, owing to a death in his family,
the Sub-Dean, Canon Protheroe, was called to the chair.
Mr. Bennoch having formally announced the order of
proceeding, Dr. Bennett made a brief statement, and called
upon Earl Granville to ask the Dean's acceptance of the
bust.
Earl Granville then said: "Mr. Sub-Dean, ladies and
gentlemen, ... I am afraid I cannot fulfil the promise
made for me of making a speech on this occasion. Not
that there are wanting materials for a speech ; there are
materials of the richest description. There are, first of
all, the high character, the refinement, and the personal
charm of the late illustrious poet, — if I may say so in
the presence of those so near and so dear to him. There
are also the characteristics of those works which have
secured for bim not a greater popularity in the United
1 From an English paper.
408 THE MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
States themselves than in this island aind in all the Eng-
lish-speaking dependencies of the British Empire. There
are besides very large views with regard to the literature
■which is common to both the United States and ourselves,
and with regard to the separate branches of literature
which have sprung up in each country, and which act and
react with so much advantage one upon another ; and
there are, above all, those relations of a moral and intel-
lectual character which become bonds stronger and greater
every day between the intellectual and cultivated classes
of these two great countries. I am happy to say that with
such materials there are persons here infinitely more fitted
to deal than I could have been even if I had had time to
bestow upon the thought and the labor necessary to con-
dense into the limits of a speech some of the considera-
tions I have mentioned. I am glad that among those
present there is one who is not only the of&cial represen-
tative of the United States, but who speaks with more
authority than any one with regard to the literature and
intellectual condition of that country. I cannot but say
how glad I am that I have been present at two of the
meetings held to inaugurate this work, and I am delighted
to be present here to take part in the closing ceremony.
With the greatest pleasure I make the offer of this memo-
rial to the Sub-Dean; and from the great kindness we
have received already from the authorities of Westminster
Abbey, I have no doubt it ynR be received in the same
spirit. I beg to offer to you, Mr. Sub-Dean, the bust
which has been subscribed for."
The American Minister, Mr. Lowell, then said : " Mr.
Sub-Dean, my lord, ladies and gentlemen, I think I may
take upon myself the responsibility, ia the name of the
daughters of my beloved friend, to express their grati-
tude to Lord Granville for having found time, amid the
continuous and arduous calls of his duty, to be present
In the Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey.
THE MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 409
here this morning. Having occasion to speak in this place
some two years ago, I remember that I then expressed the
hope that some day or other the Abbey of Westminster
would become the VaUialia of the whole English-speaking
race. I little expected then that a beginning would be
made so soon, — a beginning at once painful and gratifying
in the highest degree to myself, — with the bust of my
friend. Though there be no Academy in England which
corresponds to that of France, yet admission to Westmin-
ster Abbey forms a sort of posthumous test of literary
eminence perhaps as effectual. Every one of us has his
own private Valhalla, and it is not apt to be populous.
But the conditions of admission to the Abbey are very
different. We ought no longer to ask why is so-and-so
here, and we ought always to be able to answer the ques-
tion why such a one is not here. I think that on this
occasion I should express the united feeling of the whole
English-speaking race in confirming the choice which has
been made, — the choice of one whose name is dear to
them all, who has inspired their lives and consoled their
hearts, and who has been admitted to the fireside of all of
them as a familiar friend. Nearly forty years ago I had
occasion, in speaking of Mr. Longfellow, to suggest an
analogy between him and the English poet Gray ; and I
have never since seen any reason to modify or change
that opinion. There are certain very marked analogies
between them, I think. In the first place, there is the
same love of a certain subdued splendor, not inconsistent
with transparency of diction ; there is the same power of
absorbing and assimilating the beauties of other literature
without loss of originality; and above all there is that
genius, that sympathy with universal sentiments and the
power of expressing them so that they come home to
everybody, both high and low, which characterize both
poets. There is something also in that simplicity, — sim-
410 THE MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
plicity in itself being a distinction. But in style, simplicity
and distinction must be combined in order to their proper
effect; and the only warrant perhaps of permanence in
literature is this distinction in style. It is something
quite indefinable ; it is something like the distinction of
good-breeding, characterized perhaps more by the absence
of certain negative qualities than by the presence of certain
positive ones. But it seems to me that distinction of style
is eminently found in the poet whom we are met here in
some sense to celebrate to-day. This is not the place, of
course, for criticism ; still less is it the place for eulogy, for
eulogy is but too often disguised apology. But I have
been struck particularly — if I may bring forward one
instance — with some of my late friend's sonnets, which
seem to me to be some of the most beautiful and per-
fect we have in the language. His mind always moved
straight toward its object, and was always permeated
with the emotion that gave it frankness and sincerity, and
at the same time the most ample expression. It seems
that I should add a few words — in fact I cannot refrain
from adding a few words — with regard, to the personal
character of a man whom I knew for more than forty
years, and whose friend I was honored to call myself for
thirty years. Never was a private character more answer-
able to public performance than that of Longfellow.
Never have I known a more beautiful character. I was
familiar with it daily, — with the constant charity of his
hand and of his mind. His nature was consecrated
ground, into which no unclean spirit could ever enter. I
feel entirely how inadequate anything that I can say is to
the measure and proportion of an occasion like this. But
I think I am authorized to accept, in the name of the peo-
ple of America, this tribute to not the least distinguished
of her sons, to a man who in every way, both in public
and in private, did honor to the country that gave him
THE MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 411
birth. I cannot add anything more to what was so well
said in a few words by Lord Granville, for I do not think
that these occasions are precisely the times for set dis-
courses, but rather for a few words of feeling, of gratitude,
and of appreciation."
The Sub-Dean, in accepting the bust, remarked that it
was impossible not to feel, in doing so, that they were
accepting a very great honor to the country. He could
conceive that if the great poet were allowed to look down
on the transactions of that day he would not think it
unsatisfactory that his memorial had been placed in that
great Abbey among those of his brothers in poetry.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer moved a vote of
thanks to the honorary secretary and the honorary
treasurer, and said he thought he had been selected for
the duty because he had spent two or three years of his
life in the United States, and a stUl longer time in some
of the British colonies. It gave him the greater pleasure
to do this, having known Mr. Longfellow in America, and
having from boyhood enjoyed his poetry, which was quite
as much appreciated in England and her dependencies as
in America. Wherever he had been in America, and
wherever he had met Americans, he had found there was
one place at least which they looked upon as being as
much theirs as it was England's, — that place was the
Abbey Church of Westminster. It seemed, therefore, to
him that the present occasion was an excellent beginning
of the recognition of the Abbey as what it had been
called, — the Valhalla of the English-speaking people. He
trusted this beginning would not be the end of its appli-
cation in this respect.
The company then proceeded to Poets' Corner, where,
taking his stand in front of the covered bust,
The Sub-Dean said : " I feel to-day that a double solem-
nity attaches to this occasion which calls us together.
412 THE MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
There is first the familiar fact that to-day we are adding
another name to the great roll of illustrious men whom
we commemorate within these walls, that we are adding
something to that rich heritage which we have received
of national glory from our ancestors, and which we feel
bound to hand over to our successors, not only unimpaired,
but even increased. There is then the novel and peculiar
fact which attaches to the erection of a monument here to
the memory of Henry Longfellow. In some sense, poets
— great poets like him — may be said to be natives of all
lands ; but never before have the great men of other
countries, however brilliant and widespread their fame,
been admitted to a place in Westminster Abbey. A cen-
tury ago America was just commencing her perilous path
of independence and self-government. Who then could
have ventured to predict that within the short space of
one hundred years we in England should be found to
honor an American as much as we could do so by giving
his monument a place within the sacred shrine which
holds the memories of our most illustrious sons ? Is there
not in this a very significant fact ; is it not an emphatic
proof of the oneness which belongs to our common race,
and of the community of our national glories ? May I
not add, is it not a pledge that we give to each other that
nothing can long and permanently sever nations which
are bound together by the eternal ties of language, race,
religion, and common feeling ? "
The reverend gentleman then removed the covering
from the bust, and the ceremony ended.
APPENDIX.
APPENDIX.
GENEALOGY.
The name of Longfellow is found in the records of York-
shire, England, as far back as 1486, and appears under the
various spellings of LangfeUay, Langfellowe, Langfellow,
and Long^fellow. The first of the name is James Lang-
feUay, of Otley. In 1510 Sir Peter Langfellowe is vicar of
Calverley. In the neighboring towns of Ilkley, Guiseley, and
Horsforth lived many Longfellows, mostly yeomen : some
of them well-to-do, others a charge on the parish ; some
getting into the courts and fined for such offences as
" cutting green wode," or " greenhow," or " carrying away
the Lord's wood," — wood from the yew-trees of the lord
of the manor, to which they thought they had a right for
their bows. One of the name was overseer of highways,
and one was churchwarden, in Ilkley.
It is well established, by tradition and by documents,
that the poet's ancestors were in Horsforth. In 1625 we
find Edward Longfellow (perhaps from Ilkley) purchasing
" Upper House," in Horsforth ; and in 1647 he makes over
his house and lands to his son William. This William
was a well-to-do clothier who lived in Upper House, and,
besides, possessed three other houses or cottages (being
taxed for " 4 hearths "), with gardens, closes, crofts, etc.
416 APPENDIX.
He had two sons, Nathan and William, and four or five
daughters. William was baptized at Guiseley (the parish
church of Horsforth), Oct. 20, 1650.
The first of the name in America was this William, son
of William of Horsforth. He came over, a young man,
to Newbury, Massachusetts, about 1676. Soon after, he
married Anne Sewall, daughter of Henry Sewall, of New-
bury, and sister of Samuel Sewall, afterward the first chief-
justice of Massachusetts. He received from his father-in-
law a farm in the parish of Byfield, on the Parker Eiver.^
He is spoken of as " well educated, but a little wild," or, as
another puts it, " not so much of a Puritan as some." In
1690, as ensign of the Newbury company in the Essex
regiment, he joined the ill-fated expedition of Sir William
Phipps against Quebec, which on its return encountered
a severe storm in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. One of the
ships was wrecked on the Island of Anticosti, and William
Longfellow, with nine of his comrades, was drowned. He
left five children. The fourth of these, Stephen (1), left to
shift for himself, became a blacksmith. He married Abi-
gail, daughter of the Rev. Edward Tompson, of Newbury,
afterward of Marshfield. Their fifth child, Stephen (2),
born in 1723, being a bright boy, was sent to Harvard Col-
lege, where he took his first degree in 1742, and his second
in 1745. In this latter year (after having meanwhile taught
a school in York) he went to Portland in Maine (then Fal-
mouth), to be the schoolmaster of the town.^ He gained
' In 1680 Samuel Sewall wrote to his brother in England: "Brother
Longfellow's father . . . lives at Horsforth, jiear Leeds. Tell him hro.
has a son William, a fine likely child, and a very good piece of land, and
greatly wants a little stock to manage it. And that father has paid for
him upwards of an hundred pounds to get him out of debt." In 1688
■William Longfellow is entered upon the town-records of Newbury as havins;
"two houses, six plough-lands, meadows," etc. The year before, he had
made a visit to his old home in Horsfgrfch.
^ This was the letter from the minister of the town inviting him : —
Falmouth, November 15, 1744.
Sm, —We need a school-master. Mr. Plaisted advises of your being at liberty. I(
you will undertalse the service in this place, you may be depend upon oui" being gener-
APPENDIX. 417
the respect of the community to such a degree that he was
called to fill important offices ; being successively parish
clerk, town clerk, register of probate, and clerk of the
courts. When Portland was burned by Mowatt in 1775, his
house having been destroyed, he removed to Gorham, where
he resided till his death in 1790. It was said of him that
he was a man of piety, integrity, and honor, and that his
favorite reading was history and poetry. He had married
Tabitha, daughter of Samuel Bragdon of York. Their
oldest son Stephen (3) was born in 1760, inheriting the
name and the farm ; and in 1773 he married Patience
Young, of York. He represented his town in the Massa-
chusetts legislature for eight years, and his county for
several years after as senator. For fourteen years (1797-
1811) he was Judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and
is remembered as a man of sterling qualities, great integrity,
and sound common-sense. His second child, Stephen (4),
born iu Gorham in 1776, graduated at Harvard College in
1798 ; studied law in Portland, and in 1801 was admitted
to the Cumberland Bar, at which he soon attained and kept
a distinguished position. In 1814, as a member of the
Federalist party, to whose principles he was strongly at-
tached, he was sent as representative to the Massachusetts
legislature. In 1822 he was elected representative to Con-
gress, which office he held for one term. In 1828 he re-
ceived the degree of LL.D. from Bowdoin College, of which
he was a Trustee for nineteen years. In 1834 he was
elected President of the Maine Historical Society. He
died in 1849, highly respected for his integrity, public
spirit, hospitality and generosity. In 1804 he had married
Zilpah, daughter of General Peleg Wadsworth, of Portland.
0U3 and your being satisfied. I wish you'd come as soon as possible, and doubt not
but you '11 find things much to your content.
Tour humble ser't,
Thos. Smith.
P. S. I write in the name and with the power of the selectmen of the town. If you
can't serve us, pray advise us per first opportunity.
The salary for the first year was ^6200, in a depreciated currency.
27
418 APPENDIX.
Of their eight children, Henry Wadsworth was the second.
He was named for his mother's brother, a gallant young
lieutenant in the Navy, who on the night of Sept. 4, 1804,
gave his life before Tripoli in the war with Algiers.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on the 27th Feb-
ruary, 1807 ; graduated at Bowdoin College in 1825 ; in 1829
was appointed Professor of Modern Languages in the same
College ; was married in 1831 to Mary Storer Potter (daugh-
ter of Barrett Potter, of Portland), who died in 1835 ; in
1836 was appointed Professor of Modern Languages and
Belles-Lettres in Harvard College, which office he held tUl
1854. He was again married, in July, 1843, to Frances
Elizabeth Appleton, daughter of Nathan Appleton, of
Boston. She died in 1861. Their children were Charles
Appleton, Ernest Wadsworth, Frances (who died in in-
fancy), Alice Mary, Edith, and Anne Allegra. He died on
the 24th March, 1882,
APPENDIX.
419
Edward Longfellow, of Horsfortb.
Nathan
d. 1687
William
b. 1620 ;
d. 1704.
I
WiUiam
b. 1650 ; em.
to America ;
m. 10 Nov. 1676
to Anne Sewall ;
d. 31 Oct. 1690.
I I
Mary
Isabella
I I
Lucy
Martha
WilUam
I I I
Stephen Anne Stephen m
d. in b. 22 Sept. 1685 ;
infancy m. 13 Mar. 1713 to
Abigail Tompson ;
d. 17 Nov. 1764.
I
I M I
William
Ann
Edward
Sarah
Elizabeth
m. Benj.
Woodman
Kathan
I I I I I
Stephen (") Samuel
b. 7 Feb. 1723 ; AbigaU
(H. C. 1742) Elizabeth
(Portland 1745) Nathan
m. 19 Oct 1749
to Tabitha Bragdon j
d. Gorham, 1 May 1790.
Tabitha
m. Lothrop
Lewis
I
Stephen («)
b. 3 Aug. 1760 ;
m. 13 Dec. 1773
to Patience Young ;
d. Gorham, 1824.
I
Samuel
Tabitha
Abigail
Stephen {*)
b. 23 Mar. 1776 ;
(H. C. 1798)
m. 1 Jan. 1804
to Zilpah Wadsworth
d. — Aug. 1849.
Abigail
m. Saml.
Stephenson
I I I
Ann
Catherine
Samuel
Stephen {^)
d. 1850
I
Henry W.
b. 27 Feb. 1807 ;
m. (1) Sept. 1831
to Mary S. Potter ;
(2) 13 July 1843
to Frances E. Appleton ;
d. 24 Mar. 1882.
I I
Elizabeth
Anne
Alex. W.
Mary
Ellen
SamL
420 APPENDIX.
The Eev. Eobert CoUyer, who has made a study of the
records of his native Yorkshire, thus brings together two
names well known in poetry : —
" There is a curious last chapter to my story, for which I am in-
debted to the Boston Athenaeum. Into this nook of the North
[Ilkley], a good while ago, the Hebers came, and lived in an old
gabled house that is stiU standing a mile out of the town. They
were the ancestors in the direct line of that good Heber, bishop of
Calcutta, who left us two or three of our noblest hymns ; and the
Eeginald Heber of the days of the Ilkley Longfellow was a man of
great charity, who left the interest of a good sum of money to be
given forever to the poor of the place. But in a book in the Athe-
naeum I found an account of one of these Hebers, — the son, I think,
of this early Reginald, — who seems to have been a great scamp. He
turns up in two or three places, always to his discredit ; and what
should he do at last but get himself brought up before Walter Hawks-
worth, the local magistrate of that day, on a charge of breaking into
the house of a poor old man, together with two lewd companions,
and robbing him of two pounds ten shUlings in money, and a piece
of beef. Heber stood over the old man with an axe, and threatened
murder if he made any noise. It was one o'clock in the morniog,
and quite dark; but the old man said, ' I fear God, and not man,'
seized the axe also, until he came to the hand that held it, felt it was
a very soft hand, and could discern that the burglar was tall. They
left a crowbar and a wedge, which were proven to belong to this
Heber, and a woman sleeping in another room heard Heber's voice,
which she well knew. But the main witness against him was Eliza-
beth Longfellow, who got somehow from the confederates the whole
truth. To whom also Heber came on the Thursday after the robbery,
and said it would not have been done, if they had known there was
no more money in the house than was found. So ends this old bit
of violence and wrong. A note to the narrative says the thing was
not followed any farther, but must have been hushed up by the gen-
tlemen of the West Eiding, for the sake of the good- Hebers. Here
is this curious conjunction of two names that have since become
famous in two worlds. The trees that in this new time reach so
beautifully toward heaven in the Missionary Hymn and the Psalm
of Life, are blown together for a moment in that nook in the North
by that lawless wind of midnight evil-doing at old Sandie Squire's
little home, to touch no more, perhaps, forever."
APPENDIX, 421
The Wadsworths, Longfellow's ancestors on the mother's
side, also go back to Yorkshire, where the name is found
under the forms of Waddisworth, Waddesworth, and Wor-
desworth, — suggesting a possible connection with another
famous poet. Longfellows are also found in the registers
of Kendal, Westmoreland, from 1580 to 1705.
The relation of the poet to John Alden, of ' Miles Stan-
dish's Courtship,' is in this wise. John Alden married
Priscilla Mullens (otherwise spelled Molines and Moleyns) ;
their daughter Elizabeth married William Peabody, whose
daughter Ruth married Benjamin Bartlett, whose daughter
Priscilla married John Sampson, whose daughter Susanna
married Deacon Peleg Wadsworth, whose son, General
Peleg, was Longfellow's grandfather.
II.
BIBLIOGKAPHY.
[Revised and enlarged from the lAterary World.']
The Published "Writings of Mr. Longfellow.
Elements of French Gkammae. Translated from the
French of C. F. L'Homond. Portland: 1830.
[Editor.] Manuel de Peoteebes Deamatiqtjes. Port-
land: 1830. With a long Preface in French by the
Editor.
[Editor.] NovELAS Espanolas. Portland: 1830. With
an original Preface in Spanish.
Origin and Progress of the French Language. Article in
NoHh Am. Rev., 32. 277. April, 1831.
Defence of Poetry. NoHh Am. Rev., 34. 66. January,
1832.
422 APPENDIX.
History of the Italian Language and Dialects. North Am.
Bev., 35. 283. October, 1832.
Syllabus de la Gbammaibe Italiennk. Written in
French. Boston: 1832.
[Editor.] CouRS db Langue Fbaitcaisb. Boston : 1832.
I. Le Ministre de "Wakefield.
II. Provertes Dramatic[ue8.
[Editor.J Saggi db' Novellieki Italiani d' Ogni Se-
coLO : Tratti da' piii celebri Scrittori, con brevi Kotizie
intorno alia Vita di ciascheduno. Boston: 1832. With
Preface in Italian by the Editor.
Spanish Devotional and Moral Poetry. North Am. Rev.,
34. 277. April, 1832.
CoPLAS DE Maneique. A Translation from the Spanish.
Boston: Allen & Ticknor, 1833.
Jorge Manrique was a Spanish poet of the fifteenth century. His
Goplas is a funeral poem on the death of his father, extending to five hun-
dred lines. Mr. Longfellow's volume is prefaced with the above essay on
the moral and devotional poetry of Spain, from the North Am. Bev., 34.
277; and Included in it are ti-anslations of Sonnets by Lope de Vega
and others.
Spanish Language and Literature. North Am. Rev., 36.
316. April, 1833.
Old English Romances. North Am. Rev., 37. 374. Octo-
ber, 1833.
OuTKE Mek ; a Pilgrimage beyond the Sea. 2 vols. New
York: Harpers, 1835.
A series of prose descriptions of foreign travel; a sort of "Sketch-book."
Reviewed by 0. W. Peabody in North Am. Rev., 39. 459; in Am. Month.
Rev. , 4. 157. Its publication was begun in numbers, of which only two
were issued. [Boston: 1833.]
The Great Metropolis. North Am. Rev., 44. 461. April,
1837.
A lively review of a new work on London.
Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. North Am. Rev., 45. 69.
July, 1837.
Tegner's Frithiofs Saga. North Am. Rev., 4S. 149. July,
1837.
APPENDIX. 423
Anglo-Saxon Literature. North Am. Rev., 47. 90. July,
1838.
Htpjseion ; a Eomauce. 2 vols. New York : 1839.
This was the first of Mr. Longfellow's works written in his Cambridge
home, — in the Washington chamber of the Craigie House. Eeviewed by
C. C. Felton in North Am. Bev., 51. 145 ; in So. Lit. Mess., 5. 839.
Voices of the Night. Cambridge : 1839.
Mr. Longfellow's first volume of poems, containing " The Psalm of
Life," "The Eeaper and the Flowers," and six other poems, many of
which were originally published in the Knickerbocker Magasiiie ; also
seven " Earlier Poems," as follows, all of which were composed before the
author was nineteen, — "An April Day," "Autumn," "Woods in Winter,"
" Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem," " Sunrise on the Hills,"
" The Spirit of Poetry," " The Burial of the Minnisink."
Reviewed in North Am. Bev., 50. 266 ; Christ. Ex., 20. 242.
The rrench Language in England. North Am. Eev., 51.
285. October, 1840.
Ballads and Other Poems. Cambridge : 1841.
Including "The Skeleton in Armor," "The Wreck of the Hespems,"
"The Village Blacksmith," "God's Acre," "To the River Charles,"
and "Excelsior." Reviewed by C. 0. Felton in North Am. Bev., 55.
114 ; Monthly Beview, 160. 249.
Poems on Slavery. 1842.
Composed during a return voyage from Europe, in 1842. Eeviewed by
W. Ware in Christ. Ex., 33. 352 ; Monthly Beview, 161, 64.
The Spanish Student. A Play in Three Acts. 1843.
In this may be found the serenade beginning, "Stars of the sum-
mer night." Reviewed in Athenaeum, 1844, 8 ; in Irish Quart. Bev.,
June, 1855, 202 ; in Poe's Literati ; in Whipple's Essays and Beviews,
1. 66.
[Editor.] The Waif : a Collection of Poems. Cambridge :
1845. With Proem by the Editor.
[Editor.] The Poets and Poetkt of Eueopb. Phila-
delphia: 1845.
A collection of poems, translated from a large number of European
poets, with introductions and biographical and critical notices. The in-
troductions and many of the translations are by Mr. Longfellow. A new
edition, revised and enlarged, was published in 1871. Reviewed by
F. Bowen in North Am. Bev., 61. 199 ; by C. C. Felton in Christ. Ex.,
39. 225 ; Am. Whig Bev., 4. 496.
424 APPENDIX,
The Belfkt op Bbtiges, and Other Poems. Boston : 1846.
[Editor.] The Estkat : a Collection of Poems. Boston :
1847. With Proem by the Editor.
Evangeline : a Tale of Acadie. Boston : 1847.
Eeviewed by C. C. Felton in North Am. Rev., 66. 215 ; Am. Whig
Rev., 7. 155 ; New Etiglander, 6. 548 ; Eclectic Mag., 15. 96 ; by T. S.
King in Univ. Quart. Eev., 5. 104; by W. Whewell in Fraser's Mag., 37.
295 ; Brovmson's Quart. Rev., 7. 56 ; Pioneer, 4. 211 ; Christ. Ex., 44.
143 ; by Philartte Chasles in Revue des Deux Mondes, April, 1849. (See
also J. G. Whittier's Prose Works, ii. 63.)
Kavanagh ; a Tale. Boston : 1849.
Reviewed by J. E. Lowell in North Am. Rev., 69. 196; by T. S. King
in Christ. Ex., 47. 153.
The Seaside and the Eiebside. Boston : 1850.
Contains "The Building of the Ship," " Eesignation," and twenty-one
other poems.
The Golden Legend. Boston : 1851.
This was the second part of the Trilogy of Christus, though first written.
Eeviewed in Blackwood, 5. 71 ; in Eclectic Mag., 4th s., 31. 455 ; in
the New Englander, 10. 90 ; British Quart., 39. 31 ; Fraser's Mag., 47.
367 ; Ch/rist. Ex., 52. 141.
The Song of Hiawatha. Boston : 1855.
Reviewed by Kev. E. E. Hale in North Am. Rev., 82. 272 ; Dublin
Univ. Mag., 47. 90 ; Pvinam's Monthly, 6. 578 ; London Quart. Rev., S.
35 ; ColTm/rn's New Monthly, 106. 242 ; Irish Quart., 6. 1 ; Christ. Ex.,
60. 133.
The Courtship op Miles Standish. Boston : 1858.
With "Birds of Passage," twenty-two poems, including "My Lost
Youth," "The Two Angels," "Sandalphon," and "The Fiftieth Birth-
day of Agassiz." Eeviewed by A. P. Peabody in North Am. Rev., 88.
275.
Tales of a Wayside Inn. Boston : 1863.
"First Day," with "Birds of Passage, Flight the Second," seven poems,
including "The Children's Hour" and "The Cumberland." Reviewed
in British Quart., 39, 31.
Elowbk-de-Luce. Boston: 1867.
Twelve poems.
The New England Tkagedies. Boston : 1868,
I. John Endicott.
II. Giles Cory of the Salem Farms.
Eeviewed by W. F. Poole in North Am. Rev., 108, 395; by E. J. Cut-
ler in Nmth Am. Rev., 108. 669.
APPENDIX. 425
Dante's Divine Comedy. A Translation. Boston : 1867-
70.
Three vols. I. Inferno. 11. Purgatorio. III. Paradiso. The same in
1 vol.
Reviewed hy C. E. Norton in North Am. Sev., 105. 125; by G. W.
Greene in Atlantic MotUhly, 20. 188.
The Divine Tragedy. Boston : 1871.
Reviewed by J. H. Allen in Christ. Ex., 83. 291; DvbUn Sev., 79.
331.
Christus : a Mystery. Boston : 1872.
Collecting, for the first time into their consecutive unity
I. The Divine Tragedy.
II. The Golden Legend.
III. The New England Tragedies.
Three Books of Song. Boston : 1872.
Contents: "Tales of a Wayside Inn, Second Day;" "Judas Macca-
hsens " (a dramatic poem in five acts); and "A Handful of Translations,"
eleven in number.
Aftermath. Boston: 1874.
Contents : " Tales of a "Wayside Inn, Third Day,'' and " Birds of Pas-
sage, Flight the Third."
The Masque of Pandora, and Other Poems. Boston:
1875.
Containing "The Hanging of the Crane;" " Morituri Salutamus,"
the Bowdoin College poem for the semi-centennial of the author's class
of 1825; "Birds of Passage, Flight the Fourth;" and "A Book of
Sonnets," fourteen in all. (An operatic version of "The Masque of
Pandora" was produced on the Boston stage in Januaiy, 1881.)
[Editor.] Poems op Places. 31 vols. Boston: 1876-
1879.
KiRAMOs ; and Other Poems. Boston : 1878.
Contents: A "Fifth Flight" of "Birds of Passage," sixteen in all,
among which is the tribute to James Russell Lowell entitled "The Herons
of Elmwood ; " a second " Book of Sonnets," nineteen of them, including
the tributes to Whittier, Tennyson, Irving, and Cleaveland ; and fifteen
translations, eight from Michael Angelo.
Ultima Thule. Boston : 1880.
Containing the poems to Bayard Taylor and to Burns ; and those on
the Children's Chair, the Iron Pen, and Old St. David's.
426 APPENDIX.
In the Habbok. Boston. : 1882.
Published after the author's death, and ooutaining the tributes to
J. T. Fields and President Garfield, seven personal poems, and the "Bells
of San Bias," the last poem written by Mr. Longfellow.
Michael Angelo. Boston : 1883.
Printed after the Author's death in the Atlantic Monthly, and afterward
in an illustrated volume.
A Complete Edition op Mb. Longfellow's Poetical
AND Peose Works, in 11 volumes, with introductions
and notes, was published by Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.
Boston: 1866.
GBNEBAL BBVIBWS.
London Quart., 2. 440. — (A. TroUope) North Am. Rev.,
132. 383. — (E. H. Stoddard) Scrihner's Monthly, 17. 1.—
(F. P. Browne) Dial (Chicago), 2. 275. — National Review,
8. 198 ; same article, LittelVs Living Age, 60. 399. — Na-
tional Magazine, 3. 1. — (E. P. Whipple) North Am. Rev.,
S8. 22. — (C. C. Felton) North Am. Rev., 55. 114. — (W. D.
Howells) North Am. Rev., 104. 631 . — I^ondon Quart., 17.
45. — Dublin Univ. Mag., 35. 461. — Eclectic Rev., 90. 710. —
Am. Whig Rev., 13. 359. — Dublin Rev., 34. 359. — Cham-
bers's Journal, 22. 310 ; same article, LittelVs Living Age,
43. 522. — Irish Quart., 5. 193; 8. 916. — (C. Clarkson)
New Dominion Monthly, 18. 97. — De Bow, 26. 357. — (J. P.
Eusling) Methodist Quart., 19. 568. — With portrait. Eclectic
Mag., 49. 566 ; 84. 246. — Shai-pe's London Mag., 39. 199. —
Victoria Mag., 12. 41. — So. Lit. Mess., 8. 150; 11. 92.—
LittelVs Living Age, 19. 481. — (Gr. W. Curtis) Atlantic
Monthly, 12. 769. — (E. Mont^gut) Revue des Detix Mondes,
Oct. 16, 1849. — (Eay Palmer) International Rev., No-
vember, 1876. — (0. B. Prothingham) Atlantic Monthly, 49.
819. — Atlantic Monthly, 57. 702. — Quarterly, October, 1886.
— London Quart., October, 1886.
APPENDIX. 427
II.
Translations of Mr. Longfellow's Works.
GERMAN.
Longfellow'' s Gedichte. tTbersetzt von Caal Bottger. Dessau :
1856.
Balladen und Lieder von H. W. Longfellow. Deutsch Ton
A. E. Nielo. MUnster : 1857.
Longfellow's Gedichte. Von Priedrich. Marx. Hamburg
und Leipzig : 1868.
Longfelloiu's altere und neuere Gedichte in Auswald. Deutsch
Ton Adolf Laun. Oldenburg : 1879.
Der Spanische Studente. tTbersetzt von Karl Bottger. Des-
sau: 1854.
The Same. Von Marie Helene Le Maistre. Dresden : n. d.
The Same. tTbersetzt Ton Hafeli. Leipzig : n. d.
Evangeline. Aus dem Englischen. Hamburg : 1857.
The Same. Aus dem Englischen, von P. J. Belke. Leipzig :
1854.
The Same. Mit Anmerkungen Ton Dr. 0. Dickmann.
Hamburg : n. d.
The Same. Eine Erzahlung aus Acadien. Von Eduard
Mckles. Karlsruhe : 1862.
The Same. tJbersetzt von Erank Siller. Milwaukee :
1879.
The Same. tTbersetzt Ton Karl Knortz. Leipzig: n. d.
Longfellovfs Evangeline. Deutsch Ton Heinrich ViehofE.
Trier: 1869.
Die Goldene Legende. Deutsch Ton Karl Keck. Wien :
1859.
The Same. tTbersetzt von Elise Freif rau von Hohenhausen.
Leipzig: 1880.
Das Lied von Hiawatha. Deutsch von Adolph Bottger.
Leipzig: 1856.
Der Sang von Hiawatha. tTbersetzt von Ferdinand Freili-
grath. Stuttgart und Augsburg : 1857.
428 APPENDIX.
Hiawatha. Ubertragen von Hermann Simon. Leipzig : n. d.
Der Sang von Hiawatha. tJbersetzt, eingeleitet und erklart
von Karl Knortz. Jena : 1872.
Miles Standish's Brautwerbung. Aus dem Englischen vou
P. E. Baumgarten. St. Louis : 1859.
Die Brautwerbung des Miles Standish. ^bersetzt von Karl
Knortz. Leipzig : 18 — .
Miles Standish's Brautwerbung, 'O'bersetzt von F. Manefeld.
1867.
Die Sage von Konig Olaf. tJbersetzt von Ernst Eauscber.
The Same. tTbersetzt von W. Hertzberg.
Gedichte von H. W. L. Deutscb von Alexander Neidhardt.
Darmstadt: 1856.
Hyperion. Deutscb von Adolph Bottger. Leipzig : 1856.
Pandora. tTbersetzt von Isabella Scbuebardt. Hamburg:
1878.
Morituri Salutamus. ijbersetzt von Dr. Ernst Schmidt.
Chicago: 1878.
The Hanging of the Crane. Das Kesselhangen. tJbersetzt
von G. A. Zundt. n. d.
The Same. Einhangen des Kesselhakens, fret gearbeitet
von Joh. Henry Becker, n. d.
Sammtliche Poetische Werke von H. W. L. tTbersetzt von
Hermann Simon. Leipzig : n. d.
DUTCH.
Outre Mer en Kavanagh. Haar bet Engelisch, B. T. L.
Weddik. Amsterdam: 1858.
Het Lied van Hiawatha. In bet Nederduitsch overgebragt
door L. S. P. Meijboom. Amsterdam : 1862.
Miles Standish. Nagezongen door S. J. Van den Bergh.
Haarlem: 1861.
Longfellows Oedighten. Nagezongen door S. J. Van den
Bergh. Haarlem : n. d.
SWEDISH.
Hyperion. Pa Svenska, af Grbnlund. 1853.
Evangeline. Pa Svenska, af Alb. Lysander. 1854.
APPENDIX. 429
The Same. Ofversatt af Hjalmar Erdgren. Goteborg :
1876.
The Same. Ofversatt af Philip Svenson. CMcago : 1875.
Hiawatha. Pa Svenska af Westberg. 1856.
DANISH.
Evangeline. Paa Norsk, ved Sd. C. Knutsen. Christiania :
1874.
Sangen om Hiawatha. Oversat af Gr. Bern. Kjobenhavn :
1860.
Den Gyldne Legende,YQ^ Thor Lange. Kjobenhavn: 1880.
FKENCH.
Evangeline ; suivie des Voix de la Nuit. Par le Chevalier
de Chatelain. Jersey, London, Paris, New York : 1856.
The Same. Conte d'Acadie. Traduit par Charles Brunei.
Prose. Paris: 1864.
The Same. Par L^on Pamphile Le May. Quebec : 1865.
La Legende Doree, et Poemes sur I'Esclavage. Traduits
par Paul Blier et Edward Mac-Donnel. Prose. Paris et
Valenciennes: 1854.
Hiawatha. Traduction avec notes par M. H. Gomont.
Nancy, Paris : 1860.
Brames et Poesies. Traduits par X. Marmier. (The New
England Tragedies.) Paris: 1872.
Hyperion et Kavanagh. Traduit de 1' Anglais, et precede
d'une Notice sur I'Auteur. 2 vols. Paris et Bruxelles :
1860.
The Psalm of Life, and Other Poems. Tr. by Lucien de la
Eive in Essais de Traduction Poitique. Paris : 1870.
ITALIAJT.
Alcune Poesie di Enrico W. Longfellow. Traduzione dall'
Inglese di Angelo Messedaglia. Padova : 1866.
Lo Studente Spagnuolo. Prima Versione Metrica di Alessan-
dro Bazzini. Milano : 1871.
430 APPENDIX.
The Same. Traduzione di Nazzareno Trovanelli. Tirenze :
1876.
Poesie sulla Schiavitu. Tr. in Versi Italiani da Louisa Grace
Bartolini. Firenze : 1860.
Evangelina. Tradotta da Pietro Eotondi. Firenze : 1856.
The Same. Traduzione di Carlo Faccioli. Verona : 1873.
La Leggenda d' Oro. Tradotta da Ada Corbellini Martini.
Parma: 1867.
II Canto d' Hiawatha. Tr. da L. G. Bartolini. Frammenti.
Firenze: 1867.
Miles Standish. Traduzione dall' Inglese di Caterino Frat-
tini. Padova: 1868.
POETUGtHESB.
El Rei Roberto de Sicilia. Tr. by Dom Pedro II., Emperor
of Brazil. Autograph MS.
Evangelina. Traduzida por Franklin Doria. Eio de Jan-
eiro: 1874.
The Same. Poema de Henrique Longfellow. Traducido por
Miguel Street de Arriaga. Lisbon : n. d.
SPANISH.
Evangelina. Romance de la Acadia. Traducido del Ingles
por Carlos Mdrla Vicuna. Nueva York : 1871.
POLISH.
Zlota Legenda. The Golden Legend. Tr. into Polish by
F. Jerzierski. Warszawa : 1857.
Evangelina. Tr. into Polish by Felix Jerzierski. Wars-.
zawa: 1857.
Duma 0 Hiawaeie. (The Song of Hiawatha.) Tr. into
Polish by Feliksa Jerzierskiego. Warszawa : 1860.
OTHEK LANGUAGES.
Excelsior, and Other Poems, in Russian. St. Petersburg:
n. d.
Hiawatha, rendered into Latin, with abridgment. By Fran-
cis William Newman. London : 1862.
APPENDIX.
431
Excelsior. Tr. into Hebrew by Henry Gersoni. n. d.
A Psalm of Life. In Marathi. By Mrs. H. I. Bruce. Sar
tara: 1878.
The Same. In Chinese.
fan.
The Sam£. In Sanscrit.
MS.
By Jung Tagen. Written on a
By Elihu Burritt and his pupils.
III.
Mr. Longfellow's Poems, under their Dates of Composition.
[Those marked (*) were not included by him in his works. Translations arc omitted.]
1820. «The Battle of Lovell's Pond.
1824. *ToIantlie.
♦Thanksgiving.
*Autumnal Nightfall.
♦Italian Scenery.
An April Day.
Autumn.
Woods in "Winter.
1825. *The Lunatic Girl.
*The Venetian Gondolier.
*The Angler's Song.
Sunrise on the Hills.
Hymn of the Moravian Nuns.
•Dirge over a Nameless Grave.
*A Song of Savoy.
*The Indian Hunter.
*Ode for the Commemoration
of Lovewell's Fight.
*Jeokoyva.
*The Sea-Diver.
♦Musings.
The Spirit of Poetry.
Burial of the Minnisink.
1826. •Song, "Where, from the eye
of day."
•Song of the Birds.
1837. Flowers.
1838. A Psalm of Life.
The Reaper and the Flowers.
The Light of Stars.
1839. The Wreck of the Hesperus.
The Vaiage Blacksmith.
1840.
1841.
1842.
1844.
Prelude to Voices of the Night.
Hymn to the Night.
Footsteps of Angels.
The Beleaguered City.
Midnight Mass for the Dying
Year.
L'Envoi to Voices of the Night.
It is not always May.
The Spanish Student.
The Skeleton in Armor
Endymion.
The Rainy Day.
God's Acre.
To the River Charles.
Blind Bartimeus.
The Goblet of Life.
Maidenhood,
Excelsior.
Mezzo Cammin.
To William E. Channing.
The Slave's Dream.
The Good Part.
The Slave in the Dismal
Swamp.
The Slave singing at Midnight.
The Witnesses.
The Quadroon Girl.
The Warning.
The Belfry of Bruges.
A Gleam of Sunshine.
The Arsenal at Springfield.
Nuremberg.
432
APPENDIX.
The Korman Baron.
Rain in Summer.
Sea-weed.
The Day is Done.
1845. To a Child.
The Occultation of Orion.
The Bridge.
To the Driving Cloud.
Carillon.
Afternoon in February.
To an Old Danish Song- Book.
Walter von der Vogelweid.
Drinking Song.
The Old Clock on the Stairs.
The Arrow and the Song.
The Evening Star (sonnet).
Autumn (sonnet):
Dante (sonnet).
Curfew.
Birds of Passage.
The Haunted Chamber.
Evangeline (begun).
1846. The Builders.
Pegasus in Pound.
Twilight.
1847. Tegner's Drapa.
Evangeline (finished).
1848. Hymn for my Brother's Ordi-
nation.
The Secret of the Sea.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert.
The Eire of Drift-Wood.
The Castle-Builder.
Besignatlon,
Sand of the Desert.
The Open Window.
King Witlaf 3 Drinking-Hom.
1849. Dedication to the Seaside and
the Fireside.
The Building of the Ship.
Chrysaor.
The Challenge of Thor (Way-
side Inn).
The Lighthouse.
Gaspar Becerra.
Sonnet on Mrs. Eemble's Read-
ings from Shakespeare.
Children.
The Singers.
The Brook and the Wave.
Suspiria.
1850. The Golden Legend (begun).
The Ladder of St. Augustine.
The Phantom Ship.
1851. In the Churchyard at Cam-
bridge.
The Golden Legend (finished).
1852. The Warden of the Cinque
Ports.
Haunted Houses.
The Emperor's Bird's-Nest.
Daylight and Moonlight.
The Jewish Cemetery at New-
port.
1853. The Two Angels.
1854. TheRopewalk.
The Golden Milestone.
Becalmed.
Catawba Wine.
Prometheus.
Epimetheus.
Hiawatha (bjgun).
1855. Hiawatha (finished).
Oliver Basselin.
Victor Galhraith.
My Lost Youth.
1856. John Endicott (begun).
1857. John Endicott (finished).
Santa Filomena.
The Discoverer of the North
Cape.
Daybreak.
The Fiftieth Birthday of Agas-
siz.
Sandalphon.
The Courtship of MUes Stan-
dish (begun).
1858. The Courtship of MUes Stan-
dish (finished).
1859. The ChUdren's Hour.
"Twelfth Night.
Enceladus.
Snow-Flakes.
The Bells of Lynn.
1860. Paul Revere's Ride (Wayside
Inn).
APPENDIX.
433
1861.
1862.
The Saga of King Olaf (Way-
side Inn).
A Day of Sunshine.
Interlude, ' A Strain of Music '
(Wayside Inn).
Prelude: The Wayside Inn.
The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi
(Wayside Inn).
King Robert of SicUy (Wayside
Inn).
Torquemada (Wayside Inn).
The Cumberland.
1863. Five Interludes to the First
Part of Tales of a Wayside
Inn.
The Falcon of Ser Federigo
(Wayside Inn).
The Birds of KiUingworth.
(Wayside Inn).
Finale to Part First of Tales of
a Wayside Inn.
Something Left Undone.
Weariness.
1864. Palingenesis.
The Bridge of Cloud.
Hawthorne.
Christmas Bells.
The Wind over the Chimney.
Divina Commedia (Sonnets L,
IL).
Noel (To Agassiz).
Kambalu (Wayside Inn).
1865. Divina Commedia (Sonnet
IIL).
1866. Flower-de-Luce.
KiUed at the Ford.
Giotto's Tower (sonnet).
To-morrow.
Divina Commedia (Sonnets V-,
VI.).
1867. Divina Commedia (Sonnet IV.).
1868. Giles Corey ofthe Salem Farms.
1870. Prelude to Part II. of Wayside
Inn.
The Belief Atri (Wayside Inn).
Fata Morgana.
The Meeting.
Vox Populi
Prelude to Translations.
The Divine Tragedy (begun).
1871. The Cobbler of Hagenau (Way-
side Inn).
The Ballad of Carmilhan (Way-
side Inn).
Lady Wentworth (Wayside
Inn).
The Legend Beautiful (Way-
side Inn).
The Baron of St. Castine (Way-
side Inn).
Judas Maocabseus.
The Abbot Joachim (Christus).
Martin Luther (Christus).
St. John (finale to Christus).
The Divine Tragedy (finished).
1872. Introitus to Christus.
Interludes and Finale to Part
II. of Wayside Inn.
Michael Angelo (first draft).
Azrael (Wayside Inn).
Charlemagne (Wayside Inn).
Emma and Eginhard (Wayside
Inn).
1873. Prelude, Interludes, and Fi-
nale to Part III. of Wayside
Inn,
Elizabeth (Wayside Inn).
The Monk of Casal-Maggiore
(Wayside Inn).
Scanderbeg (Wayside Inn).
The Rhyme of Sir Christopher
(Wayside Inn).
Michael Angelo (monologue).
The Last Judgment : Palazzo
Cesarini : The Oaks of Monte
Luea.
The Challenge.
Aftermath.
The Hanging of the Crane.
Chaucer (sonnet).
Shakespeare (sonnet).
Milton (sonnet).
Keats (sonnet).
1874. Charles Sumner.
Travels by the Fireside.
Cadenabbia.
28
434
APPENDIX.
Autumn Within.
Monte Cassino.
Morituri Salutamus.
Three Friends of Mine (sonnets).
The Galaxy (sonnet).
The Sound of the Sea (sonnet).
The Tides (sonnet).
A Summer Day by the Sea.
A Shadow (sonnet).
A Nameless Grave (sonnet).
The Old Bridge at Florence.
II Ponte Vecchio di Firenze.
Michael Angelo ; Vittoria Oo-
lonna : Palazzo Belvedere :
Bindo Altoviti : In the Coli-
seum (Michael Angelo).
1875. Amam.
The Sermon of St. Francis.
Belisarius.
Songo River.
The Masque of Pandora.
1876. Parker Gleavelaud.
The Herons of Elmwood.
To the Avon.
A Dutch Picture.
The Eevenge of Eain-in-the-
Face.
To the Eiver Yvette.
A Wraith in the Mist.
Nature (sonnet).
In the Churchyard at Tarry-
tovm (sonnet).
Eliot's Oak (sonnet).
The Descent of the Muses
(sonnet).
Venice (sonnet).
The Poets (sonnet).
The Harvest Moon (sonnet).
To the River Rhone (sonnet).
The Two Rivers (sonnets).
Boston (sonnet).
St. John's, Cambridge (sonnet).
Moods (sonnet).
Woodstock Park (sonnet).
The Four Princesses at Wilna
(sonnet).
The Broken Oar (sonnet).
The Four Lakes of Madison
Victor and Vanquished (a(
net).
1877. Keramos.
Castles in Spain.
Vittoria Colonna.
A Ballad of the French Flee
The Leap of Eoushan Beg.
Haronn al Baschid.
King Triaanku.
The Three Kings.
Song, " Stay, stay at home.'
The Three Silences of Moliu
(sonnet ; to Whittier).
Holidays (sonnet).
Wapentake (sonnet ; to Te
nyson).
1878. The Emperor's Glove.
The Poet's Calendar ; March
The White Czar.
Delia.
The Chamber over the Gate.
Moonlight.
Bayard Taylor.
1879. The Cross of Snow (sonnet).
From my Arm-chair.
Jugurtha.
The Iron Pen,
Helen of Tyre.
The Sifting" of Peter.
The Tide rises, the Tide falls
My Cathedral (sonnet).
The Burial of the Poet (sonne
E. H. Dana).
Night (sonnet).
The Children's Crusade.
Sundown.
Chimes (sonnet).
Robert Burns.
1880. Dedication to Ultima Thule.
Elegiac.
Old St. David's at Radnor.
Maiden and Weathercock.
The Windmill.
Four by the Clock.
The Poet and his Songs (Envo
The Poet's Calendar (parts).
Elegiac Verse.
APPENDIX.
435
1881. Elegiac Verse.
The Poet's Calendar (parts).
Aut'Wiedersehen (J. T. Fields).
The City and the Sea.
Memories (sonnet).
My Books (sonnet).
President Garfield (sonnet).
Hermes Trismegistus.
1882. Possibilities (sonnet).
Mad River.
Decoration Day.
The Bells of San Bias.
III.
HONOEARIUM.
Some interest is attached in literary history to the payment
received by authors. For his early poems, published during
the last Jrear of his college course, in the United States Literary
Gazette, Mr. Longfellow received sometimes one doUar, some-
times two, according to their length; this was in 1825. In
1840-1841, 'The Village Blacksmith,' ' Endymion,' and 'God's
Acre,' brought him $15 each ; 'The Goblet of Life' and 'The
River Charles,' $20 each. Then, in 1844, for ' The Gleam of
Sunshine,' ' The Arsenal,' and ' Nuremberg,' he received $50
each. This remained the price up to 'The Ladder of Saint
Augustine' and 'The Phantom Ship,' in 1850. After this there
is no record; but later on he began to receive $100 or $150
for a poem. The Harpers paid $1,000 for 'K^ramos,' and the
same for ' Morituri Salutamus ; ' Bonner, of the Ledger, $3,000
for 'The Hanging of the Crane.' Mr. Longfellow noted his
income from his writings in 1840 as $219; in 1842 it was
$517 ; in 1845 (the year of the Poets and Poetry of America),
$2,800; in 1846, $1,800; the next year, $1,100; in 1850,
$1,900 ; then $2,500 and $1,100 ; and there the record stops.
436
APPENDIX.
IV.
A JEU D'ESPEIT.
The following are the verses mentioned on page 79 a^ sent to
Mr. Lowell when he excused himself from a Dante Club meet-
ing on account of a sore throat : —
ALL' ILLUSTRISSIMO SIGNOR PROFESSORE LOWELL:
PHESCEIZIONE PEE IL MAI DI GOLA.
" Benedetto
Quel Claretto
Che si spilla in Avignone,''
Dice Redi ;
Se non, vedi
La famosa sua Canzone.
Questo vino
L' Aretino
Loda certo con ragione ;
Ma sta fresco
Ser Francesco
Se '1 migliore lo suppone.
Con CLualunque
Vino, dunque,
Tinto che dall' uvo cola,
Mescolato
Ed acquato,
Gargarizza ben la gola.
T' assicuro
E ti giuro,
(Uomo son di mia parola)
II dolore,
Professore,
Tutto subito s' invola.
KISPOSTA DEL SIGNOK PEOPBSSOEE.
Ho provato
Quest' acquato
Vino tinto deUa Erancia,
E s' invola
Dalla gola
II dolore aUa pancia !
Such jeux d'esprU hardly bear translation. Those who do
not read Italian may put up with the following : —
APPENDIX.
437
PKESCRIPTION FOR A SOSE THKOAT.
"Benedight
That claret light
Which ia tapped in. Avignone ; "
Eedi said it ;
Who don't credit,
Let him read the famed Canzone.
This same wine
The Aretine
Justly praises as he drinks it ;
And yet but poor
His taste, I 'm sure,
If the best of wines he thinks it. AU of a sudden will have flown
Take this or another
(Make no bother).
Any red wine in your bottle,
Mixed with water
Of any sort or
Kind ; then gargle well your throttle.
I assure you
It will cure you
( Me a man of my word you '11 o wn ) ;
Your distress or
Pain, Professor,
AlfSWEB, or THE PROPESSOB.
Quite delighted.
Quick I tried it, —
Your red wine of Avignon' ;
When, like a bullet.
Out of my gullet
Into my paunch the pain has flown !
THE FIRST CLOSE OF THE
SHIP.'
BUILDING OF THE
The original ending of the ' Building of the Ship,' referred to
on page 319, was this : —
How beautiful she is ! How still
She lies within these arms that press
Her form with many a soft caress !
Modelled with such perfect skill.
Fashioned with such watchful care !
But, alas ! oh, what and where
Shall be the end of a thing so fair 1
438 APPENDIX.
Wrecked upon some treaoherous rock,
Or rotting in some noisome dock, —
Such the end must be at length
Of all this loveliness and strength.
They who with transcendent power
Build the great cathedral tower,
Build the palaces and domes.
Temples of God and princes' homes,
These leave a record and a name.
But he who builds the sUtely ships.
The palaces of sea and air,
When he is buried in his grave
Leaves no more trace or mark behind
Than the sail does in the wind,
Than the keel does in the wave.
He whose dexterous hand could frame
All this beauty, all this grace,
In a grave without a name
Lies forgotten of his race !
VI.
THE TWO INKSTANDS.
Mention has been made (on p. 194) of the inkstand once
belonging to the poet S. T. Coleridge, and bearing his name on
a small ivory plate inserted in the black wood.
APPENDIX. 439
To General James Grant Wilson, wlio brought it from Eng-
land, Mr. Longfellow wrote : —
" Your letter and the valuable present of Mr. S. C. Hall have
reached me safely. Please accept my best thanks for the great kind-
ness you have shown in taking charge of it and bringing from the
Old World a gift so precious as the inkstand of the poet who wrote
the ' Rime of the Ancient Mariner.' WiU you be so good as to
send me the present address of Mr. HaU 1 . . . "
This was in 1872. Mr. Hall wrote to Mr. Longfellow in
1878 : —
" It rejoices me to know that you value so much the common ink-
stand of Coleridge, which I had the honor to give you. I have an-
other inkstand, — the one to which Moore wrote some very beautiful
lines, ' To the Inkstand of the poet George Crabbe.' It was be-
queathed to me by Moore's widow, and I have, in Moore's hand-
writing, a copy of the poem. On Crabbe's death his son presented
it to Moore. I do not like to part with it before we die, for Mrs.
HaU uses it daily ; but I shall bequeath it to you."
After Mrs. Hall's death the ink-
stand was sent to Mr. Longfellow.
Mr. HaU wrote, " I send you the
poem in Moore's handwriting ; ^
also I send you a letter from the
son of Crabbe, presenting the ink-
stand to Moore." It is in bronze,
handsomely chased, and surmount-
ed by a cupid, much more in
keeping with the songs of Moore
than with the sober and often
sombre Tales of Crabbe. Both these inkstands Mr. LongfeUow
kept upon his study table, but he did not use them. His own
1 These are the Unes beginning : —
" All as he left it ! ev'n the pen
So lately at that mind's command.
Carelessly lying, as if then
Just fallen from his gifted hand."
There are eighteen stanzas, the last half of them written in pencfl. It
is the first draft, written in a notebook.
440 APPENDIX.
was of French china, with a screw-top for raising or lowering
the ink. His pens — he used only quills — were in a glass of
water close by.
Mr. HaU also sent Mr. Longfellow the waste-paper basket
which had been in Moore's use, — a small basket to be placed
upon, not under, a writing table.
VII.
THE MOTTO.
Upon one of Mr. Longfellow's book-plates was engraved the
motto " Non clamor sed amor." It was taken from the follow-
ing verse which he had found, without any author's name, in
one of his books : —
" Non vox sed votum,
Non chorda sed cor,
Non clamor aed amor,
Clangit in aure Dei."
Not voice but vow,
Not harp-string but heart-string,
Not loudness but love,
Sounds in the ear of God.
INDEX.
INDEX.
A.
Abekdekn, Earl of, 52.
Ackland, Henry, 288.
Addison, Joseph, 214.
Agassiz, Louis, 54, 67, 91, 94, 98, 102,
132, 141, 151, 160, 169, 174, 194, 198,
265, 352.
Aigues Mortes, 61, 63,
Alabama and Kearsarge, 72.
Albany, Countess of, 56.
Aldrich, T. B., 126.
Alexis, Grand Duke, 171, 330.
Alfieri, 183, 313.
Allingham, William, 260.
AUston, Washington, 401.
Alvord, Benjamin, 259.
'Amalfi,'230.
Amberley, Lord, 101.
Andersen, Hans Christian, 131, 166.
Andr^, John, 249.
Angelo, Michael, quoted, 207.
Anthology, Greek, 96 ; verses from,
385. "
Appleton, Charles, 242.
Appleton, T. G., 50, 73, 142, 182, 257;
letters from, 48, 72, 189, 215, 216,
226, 230, 234, 238, 394.
Arabic Proverbs, 387.
Arcadia, The Society, 245.
Argyll, Duke of, 53, 286, 347.
Argyll, Duchess of, 110.
Ariosto, 96.
Aristophanes, The Frogs of, 261.
Arsenieff, Lieutenant, 259.
Arthur, President, 303.
Atlantic Monthly, 268.
Auteuil, 10.
Autographs, 153, 155, 264, 276, 318, 347.
B.
'Ballad of the French Flket,'
256, 267.
Bancroft, George, 23.
'Baron Castine,' 174.
Bartholdi, Augusts, 166.
Bates, Miss C. F., 299.
' Bell of Atri,' The, 129.
Beck, Charles, 82.
Beethoven, 259.
Bernhardt, Sara, 299.
Berry, Miss Mary, 304.
Bibliography, 421.
Black, William, 249.
Bonchurch, 108.
Bone, J. H. A., 337.
Books, 224.
Bores, 143, 196, 199, 333.
Bowditch, H. I., 397.
Bremer, Frederika, 31.
Bright, H. A., 42, 73, 233, 371, 399.
Brighton Meadows, 135, 142, 326.
Browning, Mrs. E. B., 48.
Browning, Robert, 48, 72, 153.
Bruce, Sir Frederic, 99, 100.
Brunswick, 240.
Bryant, W. C, 251, 261, 271, 402.
Buffon, 327.
' Building of the Ship,' 121, 260, 297,
362, 437.
Bull, Ole, 156, 260, 296, 320.
Burns, Robert, 233, 291 ; festival, 316.
Busbnell, Horace, letter from, 178.
c.
Cadenabbia, 112, 119-121, 216.
Calvinists, 180.
Cantagalli, Romeo, 90.
Carlyle, Thomas, 39, 50, 198.
' Carmilhan,' 162.
Chair, the Children's, 284, 285.
' Chamber over the Gate,' 279.
Channing, W. E., 9.
' Charles Sumner,' 211.
'Charlemagne,' 186.
Children, 322.
Childs, 6. W., 247, 258.
"Christus," 153, 159,182.
' Clock on the Stairs,' 362.
Clocks in Craigie House, 261, 402,
Clough, A. H., 38, 40.
'Cobbler of Hagenau,' 191.
444
INDEX.
Co-education, 273.
Cogswell, J. (i., 79, 91, 165, 223.
Coleridge, S. T., 124, 194, 403.
Collins, Wilkie, 208, 209.
Collyer, Robert, 182, 420.
Conway, M. D., 73, 361.
Cooper, J. F., 313.
Copyright, International, 82, 89, 251.
Coquerel, Athanase, 171, 172.
Corneille's 'Cid,' 196.
Craigie House, 193, 345, 401.
Crancli, C. P., 162.
Crawford, Thomas, 14.
Critics, 296, 310, 372.
Criticism, 311.
Curtis, G. W., 66, 95, 122, 148, 228, 257.
D.
Dana, E. H., 209, 220.
Dana, E. H., Jr., 63, 106, 256, 286.
Dana, E. H., 3d, 254, 286.
Dante, 76, 78, 81, 83, 133, 139, 190, 344,
405; translation of, 74, 75, 80, 87, 88,
91, 92, 93, 96, 103.
Dante Club, 79, 80, 81, 89, 91, 322, 323,
337 395.
Dante's coffin, 190. 348.
Derby, Mrs. E., 56.
De Stael, Madame, 299.
Dickens, Charles, 18, 102, 103, 106, 107,
135, 198.
Disraeli, Benjamin, 135.
"Divine Tragedy," The, 150, 151,
171-174, 176, 178, 330, 331.
Dixon, Hepworth, 88.
Dobson, Austin, 406.
Dommett, Alfred, 272.
Dom Pedro, Emperor, 247, 295.
Dryden, John, 160, 162,
Ducis, anecdote of, 307.
DufEerin, Lord, 220, 271.
E.
' Egypt ' (fragment), 384.
Eliot, C. W., 135, 142.
Eliot, Samuel, 182, 184, 203.
Emerson, R. W., 29, 60, 149, 154, 155,
168, 247, 266, 331, 404.
Empoli, 185.
Epitaph on a Maid, 248.
Epigrams, 327.
Erckmann-Chatrian, 96.
Europe, last visit to, 108, 326.
' Evangeline,' 21, 22, 23, 27, 28, 52, 84,
259, 346, 366, 371.
Evans's supper-rooms, 49.
Everett, Edward, 23, 30.
Everett, William, 145, 147.
' Excelsior,' 67, 171, 361.
Fechtek, Charles, 73, 130, 131, 134.
Felton, C. C, 12, 24, 36, 222, 404.
Ferguson, Robert, 92, 124.
Fields, J. T., 44, 98, 111, 113, 117, 258,
272, 300, 301, 306, 338; letters to,
137, 156, 161, 163, 190, 262, 264, 269,
276, 287, 290.
Fields, Mrs. J. T., 306; letters to, 108,
120, 191, 206, 243, 253, 265, 285, 295 ;
her reminiscences of H. W. L., 315.
Florence, 114.
Forrest, Edwin, 332.
Forster, John, 28.
France and Prussia, 141, 143.
Freiligrath, Ferdinand, 27, 47, 93, 97,
203, 256.
Froude, Anthony, 197.
Furness, W. H., 48.
G.
Gaepieij), President, 302.
Genealogy, Longfellow, 415.
Gerolt, Baron, 87.
Gerster, Madame Etelka, 280.
Gladstone, W. E., 110.
Goethe, 195, 328, 401; quoted, 289.
" Golden Legend," The, 34.
Gounod's ' Faust,' 161.
Gower, Lord Ronald, 277.
Grant, President, 172.
Granville, Earl, 407.
Gray, Thomas, 402, 409.
Gray, Asa, 265.
Gray, G. Z., 266.
'Great and Small,' 383.
Greene, G. W., 257, 274, 405 ; letters to,
6, 7, 14, 74, 76, 78, 79, 80-83, 85, 86,
87, 109, 136, 147, 158, 166, 180, 182,
184, 186, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199,
200, 207, 209, 210, 211, 213, 214, 219,
220, 221-226, 229, 236, 240, 241, 242,
244, 247, 248, 249, 264, 260, 261, 263,
270, 271, 273, 274, 275, 278, 280, 281,
282, 284, 289, 293, 294,296, 299, 300-
305, 397-399.
Green, W. M., 278.
Grimm, Hermann, 183.
Gu6ri», Maurice de, 68.
H.
' Hagak,' 177.
Hale, E. E., 256.
Hall, Newman, 99.
'Hanging of the Crane,' 205, 206, 208,
214, 223, 225.
Harte, Bret, 155, 156.
INDEX.
445
Haskins, D. 6., 266.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 67, 136, 313,
391, 393, 402, 404; letters from, 10,
24, 29, 42, 74.
Heber, Reginald, 420.
Hedge, F. H., 192, 193.
'Hermes Trismegistus,' 307.
' Herons of Elmwood,' 357.
' Hiawatha,' 45, 47, 350, 352, 360.
Hillard, G. S., 28, 66, 262.
' Holidays,' sonnet on, 260.
Holland, H. W., 278.
Holland, Sir Henry, 123.
Holmes, O. W., 101, 149, 279, 281, 330,
332, 369 ; letters to, 388-390.
Honorarium, 435.
Hooker, Sir Joseph, 265.
Horace, 192, 193.
Horsford, E. N., 156.
Houghton, H. 0., 148, 299.
Houghton, Lord, 297.
"House of Seven Gables," 391.
Howe, Mrs. Julia Ward, 169, 160.
Howells, W. D., 81, 135, 221, 226, 341.
Hughes, Thomas, 141, 145, 397.
Hugo, Victor, 128, 202, 327.
Hunold (of Innsbruck), 67.
Hunt, Leigh, ' The Trumpets of Dool-
karnein,' 316.
"Hyperion," 26, 34,279.
I.
Iliad, translation from, 202, 335.
Imola, Benyenuto, 303.
Inkstands of Coleridge, etc., 194, 405,
438, 439.
Irving, Washington, 33.
Italy, Ul, 260.
J.
James, G. P. E., letter from, 34.
James, Henry, 131, 221.
Janin, Jules, 324, 326, 400.
Jasmin, Jacques, 35, 59, 63.
Jefierson, Joseph, 332.
Jewett, Miss S. O., 299.
' Judas Maccabeus,' 176, 177.
JuUus, N. H., 9.
Keats, quoted, 275.
' Kferamos,' 260, 262, 287.
' Killed at the Ford,' 397.
Kingslev, Charles, 208.
Kitson, bust by, 286.
Knighthood, Order of, 90.
' Lady Wentworth,' 160, 161, 329.
Lamartine, Alphonse de, 38, 114, 149,
327.
Lawrence, Samuel, portrait by, 44, 314.
'Leap of Kurroglon' (Roushau Beg),
263.
' Legend Beautiful,' 162.
Leopold, King, 52.
Lewes, Mrs. M. E., 134.
Locke, quotation from, 187.
Longfellow, A. W., 137, 156.
Longfellow, C. A., 341, 397.
Longfellow, Edward, 415.
Longfellow, Ernest, 395, 396.
Longfellow, H. W., reminiscences of,
by W. Winter, 308; by Mrs. Fields,
316; by F. H. Underwood, 350; by
M. D. Conway, 351; by others, 343-
350; tributes to, by C". C. Everett,
354; by 0. W. Holmes, 359; by C. E.
Norton, 367; by H. A. Bright, 371;
by Austin Dobson, 405 ; visits to, 337-
343, 345, 348; ancestry, 415.
Longfellow, Mrs. H. W., 312, 314.
Longfellow, William, 415.
Longfellow, Stephen, 416.
Lossmg, B. J., 243.
Louise, Princess, 146, 347.
Lowell, J. R., 43, 49, 61, 62, 73, 79, 87,
94, 126, 154, 172, 246, 249, 268, 295,
313 ; Italian verses to, 79, 436 ; let-
ters to, 130, 154, 166, 246; address
by, 407.
Loyson, C. (P4re Hyacinthe), 126.
Lugano, 111.
Lukens, H. C, 144.
M.
Macdonald, George, 193.
' Maiden and Weathercock,' 293.
Marcou, Jules, letter to, 283.
Marmier, Xavier, 216.
Marsh, G. P., 75.
Marshall, Mrs. Emma, 44, 180, 261.
Martineau, Harriet, 9, 228.
Martineau, James, 73.
Martins, Charles, 56.
Maxentius, 261.
McLellan, Isaac, 242.
' Michael Angelo,' 182, 184, 185, 202,
206, 207, 209.
Michelet, Jules, 168.
Mill, J. S., 225.
Miller, Joaquin, 192, 266.
Milton, autograph of, 66.
Minot's Ledge, visit to, 169.
Mistral, Frederic, 135, 187.
Moli^re, quoted, 276.
446
INDEX.
Montagu, Mrs. Basil, letter from, 26.
' Monte Cassino,' 219.
Monti, Luigi, 265, 298, 320.
Montpellier, France, 56.
Moore, Tliomas, 401, 439.
'Moritnri Salutamus,' 222, 224, 236,
239 357
Motley, J. L., 55, 136, 241; letters
from, 21, 212.
Motto, 'Non clamor sed amor,' 405,
440.
Music, 94, 1£7, 259, 296.
Nahant, 96, 98, 136, 137, 164, 189,
325.
Xaushon, 267.
Neal, John, 17, 96, 104.
Neilson, Adelaide, 294.
" New England Tragedies," 104, 111,
112 319
Nilsson, Christine, 146, 147, 171.
Nimwegen, die alte Frau von, 1.
North American Keview, 267, 273, 303.
Norton, Mrs. Caroline, 52.
Norton, C. E., 61, 74, 82, 91, 101, 141,
181, 188, 258, 367.
Numbers, mystery of, 282.
o.
Olympian mountains, tradition of, 70.
' On translating Dante ' (sonnets), 81.
Opera, 259, 295.
Ossian, 196.
Ovid, 231; 'Tristia' translated, 170.
Palfket, J. G., 63, 128, 263, 300.
Palmer, Eav, 251.
'Pandora,' 229, 233, 240, 241.
Paris, 113.
Parsons, T. W., 94, 320.
' Paul Eevere's Ride,' 278.
Peirce, Benjamin, 239, 277.
Phelps, E. B., 245, 266, 272.
"Places, Poems of," 242, 247, 250,
265, 271, 272, 281, 336, 336.
Plautus, comedies of, 133.
Playfair, Sir Lvon, 264.
Plumptre, E. fl., 289.
Plutarch's Lives, 262.
Plymouth, visit to, 145.
Poe, E. A., 309; letter from, 13.
Poems, under their dates, 431.
" Poets and poetry of Europe," 19, 134.
'Ponte Vecchio,' 222, 224.
Portland, 86, 302.
Portsmouth, visit to, 160.
Prescott, W. H., 60, 61, 62, 330; letter
from, 19.
Price, Bonamy, 218.
Procter, B. W., letter from, 391.
'Psalmof Life,' 355, 362.
Fuls7.ky, Count and Countess, 33, 39.
Q.
QniNCT, Josiah, letter from, 24.
R.
Rabelais, 206, 207.
Eeboul, Jacques, 39, 63, 134.
Reed, E. J., 122.
'Reformers' (fragment), 383.
Renan, Ernest, 238.
Revere, Paul, 157, 158, 237.
Riddarholms Church, burning of, 6.
'River Charles, To the,' 16.
' Robert Burns,' 291.
Routledge, George, 95.
Ruskin, John, 142, 331, 332.
Saillt, Mme. de, 10. 400.
Salvini, Tommaso, 212, 298, 300.
Saturday Club, 149, 174.
Schiller, 183 195.
Schoolcraft, H. R., letter from, 45.
Schurz, Carl, 200.
Senter, William, 306.
' Sermon of St. Francis,' 233.
Sermoneta, Duke of, 303.
S^vign^, Mme de, 253.
Shelley, P. B., quoted, 288.
'Sifting of Peter,' 293.
Skepticism, 344.
Sojihocles, E. A., 171, 183, 262.
Sorrento, 115.
Spanish Academy, 268, 288.
Spiritualism, 138, 229.
Stanhope, Earl, 110.
Stanley, A. P., 100, 275, 276.
Steele," Sir Richard, 214, 273.
Sterling (Maxwell), Sir William, 52.
St. Francis of Assisi, 344.
St. Gilgen, 279.
Story, William, 72, 94, 101, 267.
Study in Craigie House, 401.
Sumner, Charles, 12, 42, 87, 95, 99,
123, 138, 170, 197, 200, 210,211, 213,
260,265, 320, 398, 404; letters to, 16,
17, 18, 20, 30, 33, 64, 60, 61, 63, 65,
INDEX.
447
66, 67, 79, 89, 102, 129, 136, 146, 149,
154, 156, 164, 210 ; letters from, 41,
43, 47, 50, 51, 55, 58, 62.
Sumner, George, 320 ; letter from, 33.
Sutherland, Duchess of, 52.
Table Talk, 372, 382.
Taillandier, R^n^, 55, 67, 59.
Taine, Henri, 181.
Taylor, Bayard, 88, 174, 176, 279, 280,
281, 326, 328.
Taylor, Tom, 134.
Taylor, Henry, letter from, 390.
Tegn^r, Esaias, letter from, 15.
Tennyson. Alfred, 53, 109, 250, 252,
312, 340, 390.
Thackeray, W. M., 49, 342, 344.
Thaxter, Mrs. Celia, 253.
'The Iron Pen,' 290.
'The River Rhone' (sonnet), 254.
'The Singers,' 297.
'The Windmill,' 294.
Thiers, Adolphe, 215.
' Thought and Speech ' (fragment), 383.
' Three Friends of Mine,' 222.
Ticknor, George, 49 ; letter from, 9.
Titjens, Mme. Theresa, 245.
Tccquerille, Alexis de, 51. 133.
' To the Children of Cambridge,' 285.
Tourg^nief, 160, 330.
Translation, 326, 331.
Translations, list of, 427.
Travesties, 144.
Trehutien, G. S., 69.
TVndall, John, 171, 194-196.
'Twelfth-Night,' 384.
U.
"Ultima Thcle," 294, 295, 297, 358.
Underwood, F. H., 170, 350.
ViCAK OF Wakefield, play, 27B.
Villemain, A. F., 327.
' Vittoria Colonna,' 255.
Vogelweide, statue to, 222, 223.
W.
Walpole, Horace, " Letters of," 301.
Ward, Samuel, 18, 128, 139, 151, 169,
205, 208, 230, 306.
Warren, William, 332.
" Wayside Inn, Tales of a," 201, 203,
320.
Webster, Daniel, 268.
Weiss, John, 267.
Wellesley College, 241, 251.
Westminster Abbey, 407.
Whewell, William, 23.
Whittier, J. G., 233, 268, 273, 304.
Wight, Isle of, 108-110.
Willis, N. P., 10.
Wilson, Forceythe, 84.
Winter, William, 243; his remini-
scences, 308.
Winthrop, R. C, 169, 176, 196, 197.
Witte, Karl, 188.
Wyman, Jeffries, 218.
Y.
ToBK Cathedral, 108.
'Tvette, To the River,' 254.
University Press : John Wilson A Son, Cambridge.
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